Not Okay
by wonderkid100
Summary: He's high, bored and curious, maybe lonely too and she just can't stop worrying about him. The temptation is just too much for them both. But soon they get dangerously hooked and actions have consequences. (Sherlolly. Set after Sign of three. Rated M for sex, language and drug use. Was originally a one shot but have decided to continue.)
1. Chapter 1

**SHERLOCK: NOT OKAY**

_**Disclaimers note**:__ This is the first Sherlock fanfic I've written. Unfortunately I don't own anything otherwise we'd have a series 15 by now! :( _

_**Author's note: **This is rated M for sex and drug use. I'm sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes, I am typing this all out on my iPhone haha. Also I apologise for any Britishism mistakes, which would be embarrassing seeing as I'm a Londoner. Furthermore, I've never done cocaine, I don't know how someone that uses it acts; so I've done my best portrayal based on the varying info from the world wide Interwebs._

_I've tried my best to keep I character and I apologise for any inconsistencies etc... I also apologise a lot because I'm too British at times haha._

_This was originally meant to be a 'prelude' to a real story of Sherlock and Molly facing the consequences of their night together which would then be set after HLV. But this turned out to be pretty long (I think can't really tell when typing on iPhone) so should I leave it as it is or carry it on? All reviews, opinions, criticism (constructive hehe) very much appreciated! _

_God I hope this posts okay with paragraphs and stuff... Again iPhone probs!_

_I'm gonna go now..._

_Enjoy!_

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**UPDATE: Since originally typing the above author's note I've decided this will be a full story not just a one shot! :) so this is officially chapter one!  
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**CHAPTER ONE**

They gave in that night.

She gave into his harsh words and gave him what he wanted, despite the fact he was just using her as always.

He gave in to boredom along his basic human instinct and desire of need and to be wanted.

He'd left the wedding half hour before midnight. He was genuinely happy for John but he knew he didn't belong in such social situations, it was just awkward and he knew he'd stayed longer than anyone had expected him to, so his departure wouldn't go down badly. Not that anyone would notice; everyone was pretty much drunk.

'Have you ever felt alone in a room full of people?'

John had said that to him once. He shook the words from his mind as he hailed a taxi. He wasn't lonely. He was bored. It had been nearly an hour since solving his last case, the invisible man, now he was bored again.

"Charles Magnussen," he murmured to himself. Now that the wedding was over that would be his focus. Something to ease the boredom and he knew where he had to start.

"Where to?"

He snapped out of his thoughts and realised at black cab had pulled up in front of him he was about to say Baker Street but changed his mind. He had something he needed to pick up first.

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All night she'd been stealing longing glances at him. As usual, he didn't notice, even when she'd snogged Tom's face off in front of him he just went about his business. He seemed far more interested in that Janine. Not that she was anything special. But she watched him as he left, his expression. She almost felt sorry for him.

She left the wedding an hour after he did. She made her excuses to Tom that she'd drunk too much and needed to go. He offered to rent a hotel room for the night but she declined, he then said that he'd accompany her back to her flat or his flat, but she declined that too. She told him to stay and enjoy the rest of the night seeing as he was getting along with everyone so well, it took a bit of persuading but he agreed in the end. He called her a minicab and saw her off, telling her to text him when she arrived home. She agreed and kissed her fiancée goodnight.

The moment she was in the cab she gave the driver a different address.

"221b Baker Street please."

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He felt the rush almost instantaneously.

It had been too long. Years, in fact. This should ease the boredom. No, the case would ease the boredom. This was all just for the case. He was doing this for the case and as soon as it was over he'd go cold turkey again.

John would be away on his 'sex holiday' so he wouldn't find out, once he'd found a suitable den he wouldn't be at home much so Mrs Hudson wouldn't find out either. Lestrade and Molly wouldn't be of bother, Molly was too wrapped up in Tom anyway and his brother, well, he could avoid Mycroft's surveillance if he really wanted to. And by the time they did find out, when his drug habit hit the media, they wouldn't be mad they'd be appreciative of the fact that once again Sherlock Holmes was saving the day. Not that he was a hero or he cared whether they were mad at him or not.

He threw the rolled up fiver to the side and leaned back in his armchair closing his eyes.

Everything rushed so quickly through his mind, he didn't know if he was talking out loud but he knew he was going through the details and facts he already had on Charles Magnussen.

Then there was a knock at the front door. He looked at his watch, gone midnight. He hoped the person would go away but they kept on knocking. With a growl he got up and pulled back the curtain to look outside. Molly Hooper. This was all he needed and she was looking up at him. Great.

He wiped any leftover traces of the cocaine off of the table and threw the other packets of powder and the discarded £5 note into a kitchen drawer before going downstairs to open the door.

"Molly," he said unenthusiastically.

"Sherlock," she smiled at him there was an almost awkward silence before she spoke again. "Erm... Are you okay?"

He realised she was looking at his foot that was tapping away, he stopped abruptly. "I'm fine, what do you want?"

"Can I come in?"

He stared at her for a few seconds before stepping aside to let her in. Once the front door was closed he could smell alcohol.

"You're drunk." He stated as she followed him upstairs.

"Am not," came her delayed reply.

"Why are you here?" He repeated impatiently, "shouldn't you be having lots of sex with Tom right now?" He didn't have to look at her to know she would probably blush as he used her own words against her.

"Sherlock," she grabbed him by arm making him face her as they reached the top of the stairs something he wasn't expecting, must be the alcohol, she rarely initiated any physical contact with him when sober. Not that he noticed.

"Tell me, are you okay?" she gave him a warm look and he noted her dilated pupils. Lust and intoxication. Then his eyes travelled down to her lips, she was going on about something but he wasn't paying any attention. She had a small mouth, thin lips even with the lipstick. Not like his own lips. They weren't thin. He wondered if him kissing her would feel different to her kissing him, because of their lip sizes.

"Your pupils are dilated."

Sherlock shook his head, that definitely wasn't him saying that. "I had a couple of drinks at the wedding," he explained, knowing she wouldn't expect otherwise.

"You're drunk?"

"I said a couple and now that we've established that I'm not drunk and apparently okay. You can go home now." He pulled his arm out of her grasp and walked towards the kitchen, stopping at the counter, stretching out his arms and grabbing the sides, tapping away with his fingers.

"That's not why I'm here," she said. "I know you're not okay, I always know remember."

"You're also drunk, you don't know what you're on about and neither do I." he lowered his voice and hung his head taking a deep breath before pushing himself off the counter to face the pathologist with a fake smile plastered across his face. "I am perfectly fine Molly; let me call you a cab."

"Sherlock!" She said defiantly.

"Go away!" He snapped, "I am fine, I'm not lonely because John's got married and I don't need a goldfish!" He took a seat on the sofa leaning forward resting his elbows on his knees and running his hands through his hair.

"Goldfish?" he heard her mutter. Then she carried on talking to him, at him. Something about loneliness.

He'd wanted something to distract him from his boredom but he'd never asked for this. Not her words or irritating concern for him. But there was something she could give. Sexual gratification; something he was growing increasingly curious about and, even though he'd never given into it yet, drugs had always lowered his inhibitions and increased his desire for it.

"You." He interrupted her looking up going into full 'charm' mode.

"Excuse me?"

"Why would I be lonely when I have you, Molly Hooper?"

She opened her mouth to speak then closed it again and he smirked, that had shut her up.

"You've said it yourself before, I have you."

"No," she said, "you don't have me anymore. Tom has me."

"But yet you're here with me and I didn't even have to tell you that I needed you." He stood up and walked behind her, she stood completely still. "So what if I did tell you that I needed you again?" He whispered in her ear.

"What..." Her voice cracked. "What do you mean? What do you need?"

"Just you," he kissed her lightly on her jawbone causing her to spin around and push him away.

"What are you doing?"

"You're the expert," he chuckled, "you tell me!"

"Why would you do that? You know I'm with Tom! You can't just do this now because I'm with someone else!"

"Now, you care about Tom?" He snorted, "I bet he doesn't even know that you're here right now." He stepped forward, closing space between them. "You'd much rather be here with me."

Her lips parted to speak but before any words could leave her mouth he'd claimed it with his own. Forcing his tongue into her mouth, it was sloppy but he was too caught up in the moment to care. She was quickly kissing him back, using her own tongue as they battled for dominance to feel each other.

"This is wrong," she sighed as the broke apart.

"I want you Molly Hooper." He said as if that justified it, he pressed kisses down her neck, "I want you to show me what it's like to be with another person."

"You've never..."

"Never," he answered before she could finish.

"Just tonight. One night. That's all."

"That's all I ask."

It wasn't long before hands were roaming over each other's bodies. Clumsily stripping each other of clothes, he found himself glad she was somewhat drunk as it gave her confidence he was sure she wouldn't normally have around him. It didn't take much to turn him on, he honestly couldn't tell whether it was an effect of cocaine, whether it was just a normal physical response to her hands touching him or maybe it was out of anticipation of knowing he was going to experience something new, something not boring. Then there was the theory that subconsciously he actually wanted her and the thought of her turned him on. But that theory was ludicrous.

They were soon stripped to just their underwear. She was wearing a lacy red bra and matching panties. Her lips were still thin and her breasts still small. But he would be lying of he said that he still didn't find her aesthetically pleasing.

He pulled her close to carry on kissing and fiddled with the clasp on her bra, a task he found surprisingly difficult, but he didn't let it defeat him and the bra was soon with the other discarded clothing on the floor.

He kissed down her body and then took her nipple into his mouth. He knew this was an erogenous zone and as he expected she gasped out of pleasure. He gave her other nipple the same treatment before continuing kissing down her body until he was on his knees in front of her.

He knew what he was meant to do next, now he just had to put it into practise. He pulled down her panties, her hands already fisting his hair in anticipation. She was already so wet and ready, he could have her there and then without wasting time on this foreplay. But he was curious. What did she taste like? He licked her slit and she gasped a profanity, the taste was neither nice nor nasty but he did like the vocal reaction he got. He went at her with his tongue again and found her clit flicking it and sucking it. The way she moaned his name was most pleasing. He could feel his cock throbbing. Enough time wasting.

He stood back up.

"Why did you stop?" Molly sighed breathlessly.

"Sorry darling," he grunted stepping out of his boxers, "I need this much more." He pushed her up against the nearest wall and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, he placed a hand on her arse to support her.

"I'm on the pill," she said even though he wasn't asking.

He used his free hand to guide his cock towards her entrance and with one single thrust pushed up inside her.

"Fuck!" They said simultaneously.

He didn't waste any time going slowly, he was impatient and knew she could accommodate him easily; it wasn't as if she hadn't had sex in a while. He thrusted fast, biting her neck, uncaring whether he left a mark. Her problem, not his. It wouldn't be long before he finished and despite her continuous moaning, he had no idea whether he was hitting the 'g spot' he'd heard about. He didn't want to cum first, so to help her along he took a hand to her clit using his finger to rub it in circles.

She moaned louder and grabbed at his back, it seemed she would mark him too without any care. And then she came undone. Climaxing, she called out his name, sinking her nails into him and tightening her wet entrance around his cock. A few more thrusts were all he needed to send him over the edge too. He was much less vocal, just letting out a long satisfied gasp. Immense pleasure swept through his entire body and, again he wasn't sure if it was due to the drugs he'd taken, his senses seemed heightened to the extreme. That was coming for a man who already paid attention to every little thing that happened around him. His brain became a mess, he couldn't focus, his brain was fighting over letting the pleasure overcome him or regaining control. A million irrelevant thoughts crossed his mind then he could feel her touching him, her hands trailing over his back where she'd previously scratched him, the pain felt amplified. He wanted to push her away from him but he couldn't.

Instead, he held their position for a moment and rested his forehead against the wall, breathing heavily. Waiting until he'd regained his composure and his brain was back to its normal, albeit high, self of being able to make sense of everything. Then he let go of her and her feet found the floor again.

Molly leaned into his chest and he hesitated for a moment before gently trailing his finger over his cheek then placed a kiss there.

"Thank you Molly, and sorry."

"Sorry?"

"I've pretty much destroyed your marriage. Although I'm sure stabbing him with a fork had already sealed the deal."

"Tom and I will be fine," she said defensively looking up at him. Her eyes suddenly glazed with tears and despite his apology he realised he didn't want to deal with the crying or guilt at the moment.

"Okay," he said then he bent his head down to catch her lips between his for a prolonged kiss then he broke apart and without any word picked up his clothes and headed towards the bathroom to clean up and get dressed. His thought process was becoming clouded again, not because a high or a rush this time but everything was slowing down. He hadn't missed this; the comedown from the cocaine. He was craving more already. But he knew he couldn't, he had to learn to limit himself if he was going to survive the next month.

"Stay here tonight." He suggested confidently returning to the living area, Molly had stepped back into the yellow dress he decided she looked better without and was presumably looking for local minicab numbers on her phone.

"No more sex, but you said one night, I have one night. It's not over yet."

"I have to be home by ten," she stopped looking at her phone. "Tom will be over mine at 10:30 with breakfast as always when I'm not working, even if he's hungover." As she explained this, a genuine smile formed on her face and Sherlock had to remind himself that he didn't do guilt. Just like he didn't do sentiment.

He took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom. She changed into a plain white t-shirt of his which ridiculously big on her, he had to fight back the smile at this. He stopped to his boxers. When she got under the covers he kissed her cheek again saying their goodnights.

She turned away from him and knew she was doing her best not to touch him. She was still nervous despite what they'd just done together.

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to get his thoughts together. What seemed like hours passed. He wasn't sure when he'd finally managed to fall asleep or how long he'd been asleep before waking up but he could tell it was still early hours of the morning.

His first thought was cocaine but he realised Molly's arm had found itself flung over his bare chest and her head buried into the side if his shoulder. She'd probably awaken if he got up now for a fix.

It wasn't worth it.

He'd already given into temptation too much that evening.


	2. Chapter 2

**SHERLOCK: NOT OKAY**

_**Author's note**: Hey guys I've decided to continue this!_

_I can't give you a complete summary of where it's going because tbh I'm not even completely sure... I mean I have a basic outline of what I want to happen but nothing is set in stone! ;) but I can say it will involve drug use, fluffy moments, dark moments, sex and 'consequences of actions' (take that how you want)... How all that will actually translate into words I don't know, but it will happen! :D_

_I hope you guys don't mind my style of writing. How I switch the POVs (even though it's not in first person) and all the paragraph breaks and stuff... I'm trying to explore what is going through the characters heads and how they're feeling, whilst keeping in character as best as I can. I also don't want to rush the story too much._

_Thanks for the reviews! They're much appreciated and I love them! :)_

_I own nothing but my story line ;)_

_Here's chapter 2... Enjoy!_

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**CHAPTER TWO:**

The morning after their sexual encounter Sherlock awoke just after 8. He still craved the cocaine but found that he wanted something much more, sex. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up with 'morning wood'. Occasionally he'd work wonders with his hand if he had nothing better to do but the feeling he'd got from Molly was more enjoyable, despite his mind going AWOL on him. He wondered if it would be even better now that he wasn't high.

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Molly sighed contently as she was woken up by her fiancée pressing soft kisses to her lips.

Wait.

That wasn't right. She hadn't fallen asleep next to Tom. It took a moment for her sleepy brain to engage but her eyes snapped open to see Sherlock. Her mind quickly replayed last night and she realised she'd escaped a hangover despite drinking a fair amount.

He looked her in the eyes, a half smirk spread across his features and before she could protest he was kissing her passionately again. She allowed his tongue to push past her lips and compared the slow pace of the kiss to last night's impatient one. If it was possible she'd almost describe it as Sherlock being sensitive, a word she never thought she'd use to describe him or his actions.

He gently pushed her on to her back and positioned himself over her. He used one arm to balance and one hand went under the shirt he lent her and explored her body with no real direction, reminding her of her teenage years and encounters with inexperienced touchy-feely boys.

It also reminded her of her first time with Tom, he was so nervous and awkward when it happened. They both were.

"Excuse me?"

"Huh?" She blinked and realised Sherlock had stopped what he was doing, greeny-blue eyes staring down at her.

"You just called me Tom."

"I didn't call you Tom," she could feel her cheeks going red, "I was just thinking about him." She kicked herself mentally for saying that as soon as the words left her mouth. Most men wouldn't be happy at hearing that, and Sherlock's sudden sexual appetite proved to her that he was at least a little bit like most men, so she anticipated the annoyed response.

Instead he just kept looking at her.

He blinked several times, his expression unreadable. She shifted nervously and accidentally brushed his hard cock through the material if his boxers with the inside of her thigh. He let out an almost inaudible gasp then rolled off her.

He got out of bed and put on his dressing gown.

"You should go now," he didn't even bother looking at her as he left the room.

She quickly got dressed after that. The reality and guilt was beginning to sink in.

Sherlock was in the shower as she left. She cautiously went down the stairs, with every step thinking of a plausible explanation if Miss Hudson was to pop up. Luckily that never happened.

Once on the street she quickly hailed a black cab and gave the cabbie her address. She could see him checking out her attire in the mirror and begun small talk of how 'it must have been one hell of a night' but he soon shut up once she he saw the tears flowing down her face.

She had no contact with Sherlock for about a month after that.

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Sherlock thought about Molly several times during the next month.

Usually when he was bored and/or high, he'd either think about Molly first and then their sex session, then become turned on, or the drugs would kick start his sex drive and then he'd think about Molly. Either way, sex and Molly went hand in hand in his mind.

He could have easily had sex with Janine, she was definitely up for it, but whenever he was with her his mind was constantly thinking about the Magnussen case; it was hard to switch off from especially when she'd talk about her day at work and the boss. The case made him too excited to focus on sex.

The case took importance over sex but increasingly his focus on the case was becoming hindered by something else.

Cocaine and heroin. An upper and a downer respectively, but he didn't mind which one he took. They both worked wonders when he needed to relax or focus his mind or he was bored. And for the case; ultimately, that's why he was taking them the case. Just for the case.

He knew there was no such thing as an 'in-control drug addict' but he was managing to convince himself that that's what he was. At first he'd been able to stick to only getting high at the drugs den every other couple of nights, then after a few weeks he found himself getting high nearly every night, sometimes in the solace of his own apartment when he knew he wouldn't be disturbed by Mrs Hudson, Janine or anybody else.

"It's for the case," he'd mutter to himself. Not just because he was bored or was now finding it easier to concentrate mentally with their aid. He wasn't slipping back into his old habits. He'd stop as soon as his habit leaked into the media as he desired.

He'd been high when John turned up at the drug den. He knew he'd have to explain himself when the story did hit the press but he thought he'd be able to do it at his own comfort. But no, now the secret was out and with no chance to explain beforehand everybody just assumed that he'd slipped back into his old ways. Including Molly.

It had been a month since she had seen him and she welcomed him with a slap. Well three slaps. Each with more anger behind it than the one before.

Not a good move when he was high, he wouldn't physically hurt her but he could have easily torn her to shreds with his sharp tongue. But he managed to hold it back, he didn't want to ruin any chance he had left of having sex with her again. Especially now she'd seemingly split up with Tom.

For a while after that he didn't get high, not from illegal drugs anyway. With a gunshot wound, the hospital gave him all the morphine he could want.

Three weeks later he was officially discharged with advice to take over-the-counter Ibuprofen to control any pain he might experience.

John spent a lot of time back at 221b over the next couple of months, partly due to the case, partly due to the 'domestic' he was having with Mary and partly, Sherlock suspected, to keep an eye on him in regards to taking drugs.

He could count on one hand the amount of times he managed to get high during this period. He mentally thanked John for making it so hard for him to do so without being caught, yet at the same time he hated him for it.

He knew it wasn't just for the case anymore but he couldn't help it.

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Molly didn't expect Sherlock to turn up at her house so she hadn't seen him since she'd slapped him, not even to visit him at the hospital, and in the few the months he'd been discharged he hadn't shown up at the morgue either. Although a part of her wanted him to show his face, she knew she'd probably just make a fool of herself and end up getting hurt by him as she usually did. Plus she was still angry. Seeing his drug habit plastered across the daily tabloids. How dare he? Not to mention the headlines of his and Janine's sexual encounters, that didn't help her feelings either.

But now she had no choice but to confront him. Four days before Christmas and he was on her doorstep.

He knocked this time, usually opting to break in or use the spare key he had. She didn't bother questioning him about how he got a copy.

"May I come in?" He asked.

"You're not high are you?"

She could tell he was trying hard to not to give a smart ass reply and he just opted for a simple "no." She stepped aside and let him in her apartment.

"How could you Sherlock?" She cried the moment she shut the front door.

"It was for a case." He replied calmly.

"So I've heard," she watched him walk up to the sofa, taking his coat off and laying it over the back before taking a seat. Sitting up straight and fingers interlaced.

She took a seat in her armchair opposite, picking up the remote control to turn off the TV.

She sat back and pulled her dressing gown closer around her body, looking everywhere but his eyes. She could feel his eyes burning into her, waiting for her to speak again so he could properly judge what she was feeling towards him and tailor the perfect response like he always did. Eventually she met his gaze.

"That night we..." She willed herself not to go red, "we had sex. You were high, weren't you? You left your best friend's wedding to get a fix."

"No," he sounded offended at this accusation, "I didn't leave with the intention of getting high."

"But you did." She wasn't backing down.

"Yes," he admitted. "I did."

"That's the only reason you had sex with me right? Because you were high!" She sat forward mixture of sadness and anger building up inside of her. "Why do you think it's okay to keep doing this to me, Sherlock? I give you everything, I do everything you ask! I give you body parts, I help you fake your death; I go to the morgue at ridiculous hours just to aid you on a case. And yet you always throw it back in my face! You just use me! And all it takes is a few meaningless thank yous, apologies and compliments and I give in because I'm an idiot!"

"Molly..."

"Shut up! I haven't finished!" She got up and begun pacing around, she was on a roll now and she wasn't going to give him a chance to twist it around before she'd made it to the end. "Do you have any idea how much I worry about you? I cheated on my fiancé and lied to him all because... I..." Tears begun to roll down her face and she was getting choked up on her words. "Because I..." she repeated. 'I love you,' it sounded right in her head. But did she really love a man who treated her like nothing more than an object to manipulate when she was needed? That wasn't right. He wasn't the Prince Charming she had imagined falling in love with as little girl. No, it was lust. Not love.

Before she could actually say anything more out loud Sherlock had stood up and taken hold of her wrist, stopping her from pacing.

"Don't say sorry," she said looking up at him through tear glazed eyes.

Still holding of her arm with one hand, he bought the other up to her face and cupped her cheek wiping tears away with his thumb.

"You're not an idiot. Sentiment is a chemical defect, a weakness, but I've learnt it can't be helped. I'm an idiot, thinking that it's acceptable to exploit a person I should be grateful to."

She didn't know how to take his words; he looked sincere, but then he always did when he wanted to get his way.

And then his eyes were closed.

Then he was leaning towards her.

Kissing her.

Exploiting her chemical defect.

For a minute she let him; it felt so good, like that night a couple of months ago. She ran her hand through his hair pulling him deeper into the kiss, their tongues fighting for dominance.

Exploitation at its most.

She pushed him away and he looked shocked.

"Get out!" She shouted and his expression changed to confusion. "You are an idiot! You can't just admit using me and then just kiss me!"

"I wasn't using you," he said.

"Get out now!"

"I was trying to apologise. I'm not even high this time!"

"Oh, because that makes it better? Just leave me alone Sherlock! I hate you!"

She didn't really hate him. She didn't love him. She didn't know what she felt right now.

For once he didn't argue back or say anything. He picked up his coat and left.

She sat on the sofa and sobbed quietly to herself. What an idiot. And then her phone vibrated in her pocket. She wiped her eyes on her sleeves and pulled it out.

It was him.

She didn't have to unlock the phone to read it.

_'Please. I'm not okay. I'm addicted. SH'_

She reread it several times before throwing the device across onto the armchair.

He wasn't the only one. When he kissed her she was nearly putty in his hands.

He was so bad for her yet she wanted more.


	3. Chapter 3

**SHERLOCK: NOT OKAY**

_**Author's note: **_

_Short chapter! I know where this story's going now, so bare with me! :') I'm just getting into my zone! I hope I kept everybody in character, it's getting hard! Especially since there was a lot of dialogue this chapter, but I like a good challenge hehe! Next update should be tomorrow and that's where the trouble really starts! Actions have consequences! :D_

_Thanks for all the reviews! They are appreciated! So please do review! They motivate me! ;) suggestions and constructive criticism always welcome!_

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**CHAPTER THREE:**

January 17th

Molly still hadn't spoken to Sherlock. She thought about him almost constantly though.

He'd shot a man, point blank range in the head, Lestrade had told her. He was a murderer. But she knew he must have had his reasons. Still, she wasn't sure how to feel about this. Then, apparently, he was exiled from the England which lasted less than five minutes, again information found out from Lestrade. Yet he never came to say goodbye to her. Now Moriarty was supposedly back on the scene and still no word whatsoever.

How could she begin to forgive him for everything else when more stuff just kept piling up against him?

Granted she hadn't replied to his text the night she last saw him, or apologised for saying that she hated him, but surely if he thought their friendship was worth it he wouldn't have given up that easily. He was like a dog with a bone when it came to getting what he wanted.

She obviously wasn't what he wanted, just needed at the time.

She worried about him though, god was she worried. But he had John and his brother now to keep a close eye on him. Surely not even the great Sherlock Holmes could escape his brother's watchful eye now and slip back into his old habits.

Then there was that night, the night she'd dreamed of sharing with him since the day she'd first met him. It was different from all the times she'd imagined but it still happened nonetheless. She wanted him again but she definitely didn't need him.

She scrolled down her phonebook to his name, her thumb hovering over it.

No.

She locked the phone and hastily put it back in her pocket with a sigh.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Out of the two, heroin was becoming his drug of choice. Cocaine fuelled his sex drive too much and there was no Molly to help him with that. Heroin had the opposite effect, though it still didn't stop him from thinking about her.

She hated him. He didn't hate her.

The Moriarty case was so much more thrilling than the Magnussen one, and he had his dear friend beside him to help like the good old days, at the promise Sherlock wouldn't complain if he took 'personal time' with his heavily pregnant wife. Yet he still couldn't give up on the drugs.

After the events of killing Magnussen and his 'banishment', it hadn't taken him long to slip back into the routine he'd adopted before getting shot of getting high on the daily. John would rarely stay past 7pm, and he knew after 11pm the likelihood of Mrs Hudson disturbing him or a random appearance from Mycroft were slim so that's he could take drugs without being interrupted. He even tried smoking again as an alternative but found that was no comparison.

There was no way he was going to confide in John about his drug problem but perhaps there was something his friend could help him with.

"You what?!"

The expression on John's face was priceless at that moment, better than the time he'd revealed his 'relationship' with Janine.

"We slept together."

"You shagged Molly Hooper." the doctor repeated said slowly.

"Yes," he nodded, "we engaged in sexual intercourse."

"But I thought you were a..."

"Virgin?" Sherlock finished. "Not anymore."

"Erm," John shifted in his chair awkwardly thinking about what to say next. "So how was it for you?"

"Good," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"How did it happen?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "You've bragged of three continents and have a pregnant wife. I'm sure you can use your imagination doctor." He nodded towards the wall where the sofa was. "I'd place us about there."

"Oh god Sherlock," John groaned, "I didn't mean that. Mental image, I can't ever un-think that now. Thanks a lot."

Sherlock grinned, he knew the point of his friend's question hadn't been that, but he would never miss up on the chance to provoke that sort of reaction from him.

"I mean how did it come about that you done the deed?"

"Oh right, well she came over the night of your wedding. We spoke, we kissed and then we had sex." He left out the part about being high; John didn't need to know that.

"Wow," John murmured, "when you texted me I would have never guessed I was coming over for this conversation. The night of my wedding though, wasn't she still with Tom?"

"Please spare me the lecture about morals, John."

"Actually I was going to say," John smiled, "maybe she got the two of you confused."

"Confuse me with him? Mr Meat Dagger? Please don't insult me." Sherlock caught his friend's eye and they both began laughing.

"He's an idiot."

"Understatement."

"He's like your clone gone wrong."

Once the Tom jokes ran dry, Sherlock explained to John, that since he had more experience when it came to the fairer sex, perhaps he could advise him as to why Molly was so annoyed with him. Of course he didn't mention that she pretty much knew that he'd taken, or rather was still taking drugs for more than just a case.

"I doubt she really hates you Sherlock."

"She won't have sex with me again."

"Still haven't quite grasped the concept of human emotions have you, buddy?"

"Déjà vu," Sherlock was amused that his friends words echoed those exact ones his wife muttered to him when they first met.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," he shook his head. "Just tell me what I done wrong so I can fix it."

"I'm not going to help you use Molly Hooper because you've finally discovered the joys of sex."

"I don't want her just for sex."

John raised an eyebrow, "A proper relationship then?"

"No," Sherlock screwed up his face at the idea. "I just want it to be back to normal."

"Friendship?"

"If that's what you'd call it," Sherlock sighed. He needed whatever she could give him; sex, help, friendship.

"Sex complicates friendship, and the fact Molly has feelings towards you anyway probably doesn't help either," John explained. "Plus the whole drugs thing, she was pretty pissed off. I can understand why, she cares about you."

"It was for the case."

"Doesn't stop her worrying."

"Well she's obviously not worried about me right now as she hasn't spoken to me since..."

"Sherlock," John sat forward and gave him a questioning look, "why would she be worried now?"

Sherlock mentally kicked himself for the near slip up but he didn't hesitate with a quick reply. "Because my homicidal, psychotic archenemy has seemingly returned from the dead. Why wouldn't she worry about me?"

John rolled his eyes and sat back again. "Just apologise."

"Tried that,"

"Without shoving your tongue down her throat, Sherlock. My guess is she's feeling vulnerable and you can be very intimidating."

"I am not intimidating."

"Yes you are," John insisted. "So you've got to let her know you're feeling just as vulnerable as she is."

"Now I'm vulnerable as well? You have no idea what you're going on about, do you?"

"Not a bloody clue," John chuckled. "Welcome to the world of women Sherlock, it's a complicated place."

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath it seemed there was no quick solution to this.

"Sherlock,"

"Yes John,"

"You know if there is something you think Molly should be worried about or I should be. I want to know." John said sheepishly.

Sherlock didn't dismiss his friend's caring as annoying as he usually would have, he just nodded. John seemed to appreciate his lack of sarcasm and smiled before looking at his watch.

"Sorry Sherlock, I've got to rush off. Mary wants to go to Ikea this afternoon."

Sherlock watched John get up and grab his coat, "How is she?" He asked.

"She's fine, in the nesting stage" John replied. "Scrubbed the kitchen floor five times in the past couple of days. Nearly killed me when I went in there with my shoes still on yesterday."

"I'll be sure to stay out of the way then. Give her my love."

"That's probably for the best. And I will. And just try to speak to Molly again okay just don't be a complete dickhead this time" John was typing a text as he spoke. "Oh, and I'll pick up them files from Lestrade on my way tomorrow if he has them."

"See you then."

"See you." John put his phone in his pocket and offered Sherlock a goodbye gesture with his hand before leaving.

Sherlock didn't move for about half an hour, he went over and over all the information he had on Moriarty. But since his 'return' there was still hardly any new leads on him or who was behind it. In fact there wasn't much to do until Lestrade provided him with them files tomorrow.

Great. He was bored.

He got up and went to the fridge, he hadn't been shopping in a while yet all the essentials were in there, Mrs Hudson's doing no doubt. He hadn't eaten a decent meal in a while, just a few mouthfuls of takeaway when he knew that John was watching him. He knew he should have something, anything, but he wasn't hungry so opted for slamming the door shut.

It wasn't the drugs, no, he rarely ate anyway. Same went for sleeping too; he only required the bare minimum, although he struggled to remember when he'd got even that without waking up during the night and craving something in the form of sex or drugs.

He checked his phone as if expecting to see a text from Molly, of course not. He opened up the thread of messages between them, rereading the last one before typing.

'Molly, we need to talk. SH'

There were no second thoughts before he pressed send even then he still didn't have a chance to think as the distinctive factory setting iPhone text alert went off.

But it wasn't his phone. It wasn't even coming from the kitchen. Before he could investigate, his answer has entered the flat, poking her head around the door with a gentle knock. She let herself in and quickly spotted him in the kitchen.

"Mrs Hudson let me in," she explained. He didn't even recall hearing the doorbell, annoying thing, he often blocked it out.

"That was quick Molly,"

"What?"

"I just text you,"

"Oh," she reached into her coat pocket to get her phone and read his message. "Great minds think alike." She laughed nervously.

They stared at each other, he suddenly found himself lost for words. Unsure of how to approach the subjects without saying something that she could take the wrong way.

"Can I get you a drink?" It was a start.

She looked pleasantly surprised at his question, like he'd never offered her a beverage before. He'd handed her a glass of wine at a 'social get together' a few years back.

"Tea please, I'll take..."

"I know how you like your tea."

"Of course you do."

Whilst he prepared her drink, she took off her coat and took a seat on the sofa. Sitting up straight pretending to busy herself on her phone, not realising he was aware of every lingering glance she stole of him. At the fear of getting turned on he pushed all sexual thoughts to the corner of his mind, he knew they weren't a priority at this moment in time.

Damn, did she have to bite her bottom lip like that?

She eyed the drink carefully as he handed it over and took a seat next to her. Her expression quickly changed to that of satisfaction once she'd taken a sip.

"Let's talk then," she said looking down into the cup. "How are you?"

He didn't know how to reply, should he lie and say okay then wait for her to press him more? Should he offload all his problems at once? Or maybe this was one of them female reverse psychology things where he wasn't supposed to answer, instead asking her how she was. What if he came across intimidating, like John had advised against?

"Are you still using drugs?"

Oh, that's what she wanted to know.

"Yes," he took a deep breath. "Every day; heroin or cocaine."

Her breathing rhythm faltered at his admittance. She gripped her cup tighter and still didn't look at him.

She didn't hate him.

"Why? Is the Moriarty thing too boring for you? Does it help you focus or something?"

"At first I used to use out of boredom, plus they do help me think. But now it's more than that. I'm nothing more than an addict, getting high because I have to."

Now she faced him, eyes full of disappointment. More so than when she'd slapped him at the lab. He didn't like it. He wanted to tell her to stop.

"I am dependant on the drugs." he didn't want to say it and he knew she didn't want to hear it. But he felt relief saying it out loud perhaps now she would understand just how much he needed her.

John was right about feeling vulnerable.

"When I texted you saying that I was addicted, it wasn't a lie. It wasn't to manipulate you." He said.

"Why did you have sex with me?"

He took a moment before answering this, he wanted to be truthful with her but at the same time he didn't want to come across too blunt. Something he had a habit of doing.

"I was curious, not only did I physically crave sex I wanted to know what it felt like mentally and I found you appealing."

"You mean you found me useful?" Her tone quickly changed to bordering the 'anger danger zone'.

"Was Janine useful as well? You really did do a number on her!"

He rolled his eyes at the memory of his fictional sex life splashed across the daily tabloids. "I didn't have sex with Janine, that was her idea of revenge." He really didn't want to talk about this. They were getting nowhere, how irritating.

"You know you cheated on your fiancee with me?"

His brain was telling him to shut up now, unfortunately his mouth had other plans.

"You can't exactly play the wounded victim. In fact you flirted with me all the time, you even suggested we go out for dinner whilst when I came back to London at which time you were engaged. You came to my house uninvited that night and willingly had sex with me. Maybe I was using you at the time but I don't know exactly what you expected. A confession of love? A marriage proposal? I didn't promise you any of that. You know who I am, Molly."

He should have just stuck with repeatedly saying sorry again.

Now she was crying. There were tears rolling down her face and he was certain her brain was trying to come up with new insults to use on him. He wanted to call a time out. He'd only stated the truth though; this was an irrational response to it.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, it was coming, the insult she'd thought up especially for him.

"I know,"

Did he hear that right?

"We've both screwed up. I can't not care for you, Sherlock; trust me I've tried"

"I need you," he softened his features.

"I want you,"

That's what he wanted to hear.


	4. Chapter 4

**SHERLOCK: NOT OKAY**

_**Author's note: **_

_Thanks for all the awesome reviews and positive feedback! :') I'm glad you are all enjoying this story and I hope I can continue to please!_

_Also guess what! I have exciting news! Me and my mates got really good seats for the theatre performance of Richard III starring Martin Freeman here in London for August and again for the closing date in September! This is as exciting as when I was privileged enough to see Hiddles in Coriolanus a few times hehe! Is anyone reading this story going? :D_

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR:**

"May I?" He asked leaning towards her.

She caught her breath, eyes filled with lust and longing, but she seemed unsure.

"It's okay if you don't want to Molly," he assured. "I really want you and I know that you want me too. But if you do insist that I am using you then I'll just have to let you use me too..." He leaned in closer, whispering in her ear, "in any way you see fit to."

"Oh god," he heard the words leave her lips and he smirked.

"So may I?"

Her reply was to slide her fingers through his hair and push his head down until his lips were on her neck. He began sucking and biting the area remembering that last time he never checked the next morning if he'd left a mark. This time he would.

She undid the buttons on his blazer and then his shirt, pushing them both off his shoulders and on to the floor at the same time. She sat back and eyes roamed over his naked torso a hand coming up to trace a finger around the bullet wound scar on his chest, she frowned. Then her gaze travelled to his arms going back and forth between the two, before settling on one.

The frown grew.

Needle marks, he didn't have to look to know that they were there.

He tilted her chin up so her attention was back on his face.

"Later Molly," he said knowing that she probably had something to say about this. "But for now, what do you want me to do to you?" He asked.

"Erm," she went red as he expected. "Whatever you want."

"No, that's not an answer." he shook his head. "What specifically do you want me to do? What do you like?" He begun unbuttoning her blouse and without bothering to remove it slid his hand round the back and unhooked her bra, grateful it easily came undone, and discarded it next to his shirt and blazer. He licked his lips and stroked one of her breasts, amused at how quickly her nipples became hard.

"All the things you've fantasised about me doing to you, I want to know."

"Sh-Sherlock..."

He silenced her with a kiss then took hold of her hand. "I will try my best to restrain myself from achieving my own gratification whilst seeing to pleasing you." He ran her hand over the now prominent bulge in his trousers. "It won't be easy, see what you do to me?"

"Can we go to the bedroom?"

He nodded and led her by the hand to his room.

"Kiss me," she ordered once the door was shut behind them. He was slightly taken aback by her sudden confidence, especially without the aid of alcohol, but he didn't need to be told twice.

He suddenly realised just how much he'd missed the feeling of her lips against his.

He pushed her against the nearest wall and he had to stop himself from doing her like that there and then like a repeat of their first time. He finally removed her shirt completely then pushed her jeans down which she kicked to the side along with her shoes.

He ran his hand over the thin material of her panties and felt how wet she already was.

"Use your fingers," she gasped.

Sherlock nodded and removed the last item of clothing from her. He remembered last time, she responded positively to him playing with her clit with his tongue and with his fingers during intercourse so that's what he begun doing. He began circling it with his thumb slowly and teasingly.

"More," she pleaded.

"Faster?" He quizzed.

"No," she grabbed the hand that was playing with her and bought it up to her mouth. She engulfed his index finger and released it with a slight pop, "more."

"Oh," His eyes widened slightly as he realised what she meant.

His wet finger probed her wetter entrance before he slid it in with ease. Slowly, he thrust it in and out and after he bent his finger slightly he knew he hit the right spot when she threw her head back against the wall and mumbled profanities.

It was a sight that made him hungry for more. Then he felt her hands working his belt undone.

"No Molly, this is about you first," he was determined to show restraint.

He withdrew his finger and ignored her protests, guiding her to lay down the bed and balancing himself over her.

He made his was down her body until his head was in between her legs.

"Now what?" He teasingly licked the inside of her thigh.

"Make me come" she ordered.

"Okay," he flicked his tongue over her clit and her hips bucked upwards. As his tongue worked its magic he lifted one of her legs over his shoulder to give him access to use his finger as well. He quickly found her spot again and it wasn't long before it felt like she was pulling chucks of curls from his head and groaning his name in pleasure.

What would Mrs Hudson think if she could hear?

Her hands slipped from his hair and dropped to her sides, breathing heavily as she regained composure.

He was now painfully aware of his hard cock pressing into the bed. He stood up to remove his trousers and boxers before lowering himself over her again.

"Feel good?" He murmured against her neck.

"Yeah," she sighed and he lifted his head to look at her. She smiled and gently brushed her lips over his, softly biting the bottom one.

"So now it's your turn." Her hand wrapped around his cock and begun stroking him slowly.

Her hand seemed to work him better than his own ever did and he found himself thrusting into her movements, needing more friction.

He took her hand that was wrapped around him and guided himself towards her entrance.

"I'm still on the pill."

Like before he wasn't asking, such details were the last thing on his mind in such a situation.

He entered her slowly, holding back, he wanted to see how long he could make this last. Longer than before he hoped.

"Try not to rip my back to shreds this time Molly."

"Sorry," she said shyly as he started to kiss her.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Several times Molly had to remind herself this wasn't one of her sex dreams about Sherlock.

The first time they'd done it he had been high, she had been drunk and it was all about him.

Now they were both sober and he needed her. She was there for him as always and, perhaps out of gratitude, he'd put her before him.

It felt good.

For now she'd forgotten how angry she was at him. She wanted to believe that he wasn't just messing with her, in this moment it didn't feel like that; it felt like he actually wanted her.

He wasn't very verbal. Occasionally he'd make the odd comment or mutter a profanity between heavy breaths and when she'd wrapped her legs around his back allowing him to thrust deeper he groaned her name in such a delicious way.

Soon he was hitting the right spot, the spot that meant that she wasn't going to last much longer. When she began moving her hips in time with his thrusts he took this as a sign to go faster.

His head was right next to hers, cheek to cheek, his breathing seemed to speed up at the same rate as his thrusts. She laced her fingers through his hair and the other grabbed at his back, trying to be aware of her nails.

She lifted her hips higher to match his rhythm. It felt so good. He was sweating.

It was a race to the finish line now.

And she won.

Her body spasmed as a wave of pleasure travelled through her. There was going to be marks on his back, she'd have to apologise. She cried something that sounded like his name and when she clenched around his cock that's when he caught up.

After a few determined thrusts followed by string of jumbled words she couldn't put together were moaned into her ear he froze.

Then there was silence.

His face buried in the pillow, cheek still against hers. Eventually he withdrew and rolled off of her sitting on the side of the bed.

Still silence.

His elbows rested against his knees and he leaned forwards holding his head in his hands.

She couldn't see his expression. Unsure of what to do she just stared at his back.

She had left a few scratches on his back. There were also faint scars in several places. She wondered how he got them. Knowing him, it would either be a really exciting story or less than pleasant one; there'd be no in between with him.

Before she could think twice her arm had stretched out so she could run her finger down the longest scar. Instantaneously he whipped his head around and she withdrew her arm.

"Sherlock..."

"Please don't speak, I need to think, sort out my mind." He ruffled his hair with one hand. "That was more intense than before, mentally as well as physically. Weird but good." He trailed off and repositioned the pillows so he could lay back with his head propped comfortably against the headboard.

"Stay, rest for a while," he said.

She nodded, opting to get under the covers unlike him.

Like the first time they shared a bed she was too nervous and embarrassed to face him, so he got a view of the back of her head.

She shut her eyes.

Wondering what came next between them.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The plan for him hadn't been to fall asleep. But when she'd finally nodded off and rolled over to face him, he too slipped under the covers and finally let fatigue claim him.

It was the best sleep he'd had in a while.

But he woke up dead at 7pm. The time of day when he'd really start craving his next fix of drugs but knowing he'd have to wait it out a few hours until after that time he knew he wouldn't be disturbed.

The only solace in these few hours was knowing he'd be high soon.

Or maybe not, he couldn't with Molly there.

What if she decided to stay?

But that was the whole point right? He knew he had a problem, one that could potentially kill him, and having her around would help him get off the drugs.

Cold turkey was asking a bit too much though. He couldn't do that, not at this stage.

Four hours they'd been asleep, he knew she'd be awake soon. Many nights had been spent on her sofa in the first couple of months after faking his death and when she hadn't consumed ridiculous amounts of alcohol the most she ever slept for was around seven hours.

He doubted she'd want to sleep again when she woke. So he made a decision. He'd get high now and then slip back into bed and occupy himself in his mind palace. When she woke up he'd simply feign still being asleep.

Genius! He really was.

He carefully slipped out of bed and put his boxers back on along with his dressing gown. He pulled out a red leather bound book from his bookcase and quietly left the room.

He made his way into the living area; his and Molly's discarded clothes were neatly folded on his armchair.

He'd definitely be hearing about this from Mrs Hudson. He laughed to himself imagining her reaction upon finding a bra on the floor, especially since she'd let Molly in earlier.

Going back to the kitchen, he took a seat at the table and opened the book in front of him. Hollowed out. One of the oldest, yet most efficient, tricks in the book.

He took out a syringe he'd preloaded with heroin and rolled up his sleeve. Clenching his fist until a vein appeared. He took the needle to his skin, in a moment it would feel so good.

But he couldn't.

He heard footsteps.

She was watching.

"Don't, Sherlock."

He glanced sideways at the figure in the doorway, she'd helped herself to one of his shirts. "Go back to sleep Molly, or go home."

"You want my help, so let me give it to you."

"Not now."

"Yes now. You can't have the sex and the drugs. I won't let you do this!"

"Molly..." He clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes as she walked up to him.

Her small hand cupped his cheek, stroking his face. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy her gentle touch. He momentarily let down his guard.

His mistake.

She snatched the syringe from his hand and jumped back out of his reaching distance.

"Give it back Molly," he said, "this isn't a game."

"You're right," she held up the syringe and examined the liquid, "this is your life. Not something you should be playing around with. I mean what is so great about this?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Then tell me! Talk to me Sherlock, like earlier when you told me you were addicted. Just talk to me so I can help."

"This is no time for conversation Molly." He jumped up and made a grab for the syringe but she was evaded him.

"Fine if you won't tell me what's so good about it then I'll just have to find out myself," she pulled up the shirt sleeve holding out her arm, pointing the needle dangerously close to her vein.

"Don't be so stupid!" He shouted. Clenching his fists, out of frustration. He wished it was John standing in front of him. Someone he could just punch it out with.

"Why should you get to have all the fun?"

"I know what you're trying to do; you're not going to actually do it so just hand it back to me now."

"Maybe I will," she looked him straight in the eye, an expression of determination across her face.

Suddenly he really was unsure of whether she'd actually do this.

He lunged forward to grab her.

He didn't know if he made it though.

Everything suddenly went black.


	5. Chapter 5

**SHERLOCK: NOT OKAY**

**_Authors Note_**: sorry about taking long to post, life's been busy at the moment. This is a small chapter to say that this story is still going.

I know it's still going at a slow pace, but I hate to rush things and hate skipping on details! I'm excited to see how this story unfolds into written word as I have it planned in my head! I hope you're excited too!

Please do review! I appreciate every single one!

Also, where I excel in British/London facts (as I am a Londoner born and raised) I then lack in drug experience. I'm trying to make it realistic but it's hard to find everything on Google! Especially what would happen in the case of an overdose! But I hope I'm sort of accurate! And as always I hope I'm doing justice in keeping Sherlock in character, it's getting harder with each chapter, but I'm enjoying trying toner into his mind mwaha! ;D

Enjoy!

P.S keep an eye on that Dr Granger ;)

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE:**

_"Oh brother, mummy and daddy are going to love this."_

_"Love what?" Sherlock asked putting his feet up on the desk and leaning back in the chair._

_Mycroft glared at him from across the desk. "Slipping back into old habits Sherlock. The 'reoccurring junkie phase' never has been a favourite of theirs."_

_"You won't tell them," Sherlock snorted._

_"And what makes you say that?"_

_"The same reason you've tried to avoid telling them all the other times, because you know they'll blame you and you don't want that hassle. Remember when mother found out the first time?" Sherlock smirked. "Mike, how could you let this happen to your little brother?" He teased in a high pitched voice._

_Mycroft just rolled his eyes, "Sherlock..."_

_Sherlock dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Spare me the waterworks Mycroft."_

_"And what of Molly Hooper?"_

_"She's just an acquaintance."_

_"More than that."_

_"Friend,"_

_"No, John Watson is a friend," said Mycroft. "Molly's more than that. If the drugs don't destroy you first, this 'relationship'," he used his fingers to make air quotes, "definitely will."_

_"You don't know anything!" Sherlock growled defensively. Taking his feet off the desk and leaning forward, he eyed Mycroft suspiciously. "In fact how do you know anything about the drugs and how I feel about Molly?"_

...

He woke up in hospital.

He could tell there was someone sitting by the bedside he could hear breathing that didn't belong to him and smell cigarette smoke.

He didn't make it known that he was awake yet instead he closed his eyes again and tried to remember how he'd got there.

He had a vague recollection of events.

He pulled himself up off the kitchen floor, dizzy, blood running down his face from his throbbing forehead.

Blinked several times.

Really dizzy.

There was a near empty syringe on the floor. He hadn't used it.

Molly.

She was sitting on the floor, back propped against the fridge door, legs stretched in front of her and arms limply to the side.

He was quickly by her side.

Shallow breathing, weak pulse, drowsiness, clammy cold hands.

He shook her shoulders, calling her name. Though clearly distressed she didn't acknowledge him.

Symptoms he'd witnessed too many a times.

He needed to get her to a hospital.

No calling for an ambulance. The length of time it would take for it to arrive they could get a taxi to any Central London hospital by then.

He stuffed the book full of drugs and empty syringe into the nearest kitchen drawer and then they were outside, on the doorstep.

His arm holding her up by her waist, his coat flung around her shoulders whilst he was still clad in just his dressing gown and boxers.

People in the street we're beginning to take note of the distressing scene.

He quickly hailed a taxi.

"St Thomas' hospital," he requested. Asking to go to Bart's would be a stupid move.

Molly slumped against the window, still breathing and still conscious. He strapped the seatbelt over her.

The driver was speaking, asking what had happened but he ignored him.

He leaned forward and held his head in his hands, saying he felt nauseous would be an understatement.

And now he was here in a hospital bed.

No, he wasn't in a hospital bed, he was on top of a bed with his coat over him.

And someone by his bedside.

"Did you bring grapes for the sickly?" He finally asked making his conscious state known.

"Mr Holmes the younger."

Well spoken, middle aged man, with a husky voice like that he smoked at least ten a day. Mayfair lights by the faint smell mixed in with the stench of vomit.

Dr Stephen Granger.

"I honestly wasn't expecting to see you here, especially after your brother assured me the drug habit I saw in the headlines last year was just for a case."

Sherlock rolled over and came face to face with the man who's identity he'd correctly guessed.

"I thought you worked at Princess Grace."

"Not for a couple of years now, it's been so long. We must catch up properly sometime."

"No thank you doctor."

The man leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "It seems that it would be in your best interest."

Sherlock sat himself up, noting he was in a private side ward, the clock on the wall read 7:32am. He had his coat over him and his dressing gown was laying on the floor next to a bucket which was the source of the vomit smell.

There was a lingering taste of sick on his lips.

He touched his forehead, there was now stitches where he'd been bleeding last night.

"Keeping you still to stitch you up was hard enough before you started throwing up. But you're not concussed, the vomiting is most likely side effects or withdrawal from whatever drug you've been messing around with this time."

Sherlock chose to ignore the man at the moment.

Dr Stephen Granger, a former classmate and acquaintance of Mycroft. The doctor that Sherlock had had forced upon him when his brother insisted on helping him kick his drug habit in the past.

"Where's Molly?"

"Dr Hooper, she's fine now. No lasting damage. She'd overdosed but nothing naloxone couldn't fix this time."

Sherlock groaned. He couldn't help but feel responsible. That's because he was.

This was his fault.

People were getting hurt because of him.

No because he was going to fix himself, make it all better. But with Molly's help. Not the good doctor Granger.

"Molly Hooper is not a junkie. This was her first and last time doing drugs. This will not appear on her medical records. I know you can do that."

He heard the doctor sigh before saying, "And what are we going to do with you Sherlock?"

"Nothing as I have no problem." Sherlock lied defiantly. "It was a one off experiment. You can rest assured that it won't happen again so no need to mention this to Mycroft either."

"Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"Well..."

"You owe this to me to keep clean Sherlock, you cost me a lot of money to help you out last time."

"I didn't need your money."

"They were going to kill you and if they see that you're scoring again surely they'll be back with a vengeance."

"I had it handled then and I have it handled now."

"In the state you was in, mentally as well physically, I don't think so," said Dr Granger. "Plus you can't hide this and the tell take signs will soon become more obvious, people will begin to notice."

"Just shut the hell up!" Sherlock snapped jumping out of bed.

Dr Granger didn't flinch, he just watched as he put his coat on and paced the short length of the room.

"I have no problem," Sherlock repeated turning on his heel. "You'd be a fool to mention this to Mycroft, I would just hate to cause my dear brother unneeded worry."

"Sherlock..."

"Great, I'm glad that we agree!"

"The drugs will kill you eventually. If Ricky doesn't get their first."

"Really? Mycroft reckons it's either going to be drugs or Molly."

"Pardon me?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "Ricky is a moron and the least of my worries. I'm up against what could be the return of the world's greatest criminal mastermind. A junkie with a grudge is child's play. Plus last I heard he's relocated business to Manchester."

He put on his shoes and hoped the absence of trousers on his legs sticking out under his coat wasn't that noticeable.

"Laters doc," he said. But as he went to leave he heard Dr Granger stand up so turned round to look at him.

"She kept asking about you Sherlock, wanting to know whether you were alright."

He didn't know why this made him smile as he felt guilty at the same time.

"Call me anytime you need to."

The doctor held out his hand and Sherlock shook it firmly before they both left the ward. Dr Granger pointed him in the direction of where Molly was before heading the opposite way.

Asides from Molly there one other woman on the ward when he got there. Fast asleep with what Sherlock deduced as her boyfriend sitting on the chair next to the bed engrossed in a Top Gear magazine.

Molly too was fast asleep. Curled under the covers in a hospital gown.

Without a second thought he took the seat next to the bed and the man opposite reading lowered the magazine and smiled at him.

"The duty of being a good boyfriend hey?" He said in a hushed voice.

"Erm..." Sherlock was sure he fell the heat rushing to his cheeks. "Something like that."

"I hope she's okay, you must be the fella she kept asking the doctor about earlier."

"Indeed, I must."

Maybe it was his lack of response but the man just smiled at him again and went back to reading his magazine.

Two hours he was sat there.

Two long hours.

A nurse told him that once she woke up she should be fine to leave after checking her over.

He passed the time sweet taking a nurse into giving him 40p so, as he'd left his phone at home, he could use the pay phone to call Mike Stamford. Bluntly telling him Dr Hooper was sick and unable to come into work for today and she may be back tomorrow so to please let the right people at Bart's know. Mike didn't question it and told Sherlock to wish Molly a speedy recovery. Afterwards he slowly flipped through the pages of The Metro and The Daily Mail newspapers that he'd found in the waiting area. No headlines to excite him though.

The fact that his foot was tapping up and down erratically on the floor he put down to the three cups of coffee he'd drunk.

Nothing to do with the drugs he was trying so hard not to think about.

Then he decided it was time to retreat to his mind palace. He came face to face Moriarty. Suited, booted and as confident as ever. They were in a infinite white room, pacing around, circling each other like two animals getting ready to make the first move and pounce.

_'Moriarty._

_Say you really are back._

_How could you survive? _

_I've thought through every possible scenario and situation that could have played out on that roof._

_Still nothing._

_Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth._

_But I saw you shoot yourself. Point blank range. Survival was impossible._

_"John saw you jump off a roof and you're still alive but that was one big set up. I can even fake a death better than you."_

_No you can't, you're great but not a miracle worker. _

_Your body was laid out in the morgue next to mine._

_Molly examined you, checked everything._

_Unless it wasn't you. An identical twin perhaps._

_You're laughing, what's so funny?_

_"You know how ridiculous you sound I have no identical twin. Have you ever thought that maybe Molly helped me as well as you?"_

_Impossible._

_"Slipping Sherlock? Improbable not impossible."_

_Highly improbable._

_"I wouldn't say that. Sociopaths are her type. Maybe she preferred the more experienced bad boy over the goody two shoes who had probably never seen past first base. Would you like to know how easy it was for me to persuade her to help?"_

_Stop it._

_"Now now Sherlock, no need to get jealous."_

_I know what you're doing Moriarty and it won't work. Not on me. You should know that._

_"Oh but I'm just doing what you're telling me to do."_

_Huh..._

_"Don't make me explain your own mind palace to you. I'm modelled on memories, experiences, facts and how you perceive me. Ultimately just another piece of your complex mind. The same complex mind that harbours emotions you try to hide away."_

_I don't try to hide them. I just don't bother with the ridiculous one's in the first place._

_Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side._

_"That's what you're feeling right now, now that you're losing."_

_No, I take that back, I was wrong. John has Mary and he's not losing._

_I'm not losing._

_"John hasn't got the burden of harbouring a genius brain like we do Sherlock so you are losing."_

_My friendships didn't stop me beating you before. Just made it more of a challenge._

_"Oh this is more than friendship Sherlock."_

_Hmm... Have you you been meeting up with my brother in here?."_

_"How sad, you don't even know your own feelings. Let me tell you a story Sherlock Holmes. I am the story teller after all. This is one of my personal favourites. Once upon a time there was a hero called Shirly."_

_This is ridiculous._

_"Your mind, you can leave anytime you want. Now continuing. Shirly liked to show off his great mental powers and save the world just for the fun of it. Shirly's greatest feat was defeating the evil dragon Jim. Or so he thought. Once Jim was gone Shirly got soft, he fell in love with young Princess Hooper and whilst he was busy stumbling head over heels the evil dragon Jim struck roaring his mighty flames all over the land and burnt everybody and everything to the ground slowly destroying Shirly in the process. The end."_

_That escalated quickly. _

_"Can you guess who Shirly is yet?"_

"Sherlock!"

Moriarty disappeared, he opened his eyes and his attention was back in the real world as Molly stirred from he sleep.

"Sherlock."

He looked down, she was pulling herself to sit up. He knew she felt as rough as she looked.

"Molly, you're awake."

Stating the obvious.

He mentally scolded himself, he hated people that stated the obvious.

"How are you feeling?"

"Sick,"

"That would be a side effect of the naloxone."

"I know, I am a doctor remember."

She was being short with him. What happened to the concern and asking after him? He'd prefer that right now.

"Oh, yes..."

Just then Top Gear magazine man walked past with a sandwich he'd just gone to buy and when he saw that Molly was awake gave Sherlock the thumbs up.

Sherlock nodded at him with a slight smile and looked at Molly.

He was ready to give her a sincere apology. Something that was becoming a trademark for him that only applied to her.

He hadn't even apologised for the time he snuck laxatives into John's food for experimental purposes.

"What happened last night..."

"Don't even say sorry Sherlock. Just don't."

"Okay."


	6. Chapter 6

_**SHERLOCK: NOT OKAY**_

_**Author's note:**_ _Thanks for all the feedback! Been really busy these past months, every time I think I find time to write other stuff comes up! :( I apologise again... You're probably fed up with the same apology... Aha I suck! Any who as always please leave reviews, constructive criticism and suggestions! As it always helps me in shaping the next chapter and thanks for reading..._

_Here we go..._

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**CHAPTER SIX: **

A giant framed periodic table hung on the wall next to the window.

The two other times she'd been in this bedroom before she hadn't noticed it or maybe she had but had been too preoccupied with other things, like the consulting detective whispering dirty things in her ear, to give it a second thought.

There was also quite a few stacks of science books on the floor not to mention the ones in the bookcase.

She wondered what he was like in school, the budding teenage defective. What made him study chemistry at university over something such as forensic science and criminal investigation.

Chemistry.

Was it the drugs?

Had they consumed him already at such a young age? She didn't know when he'd became a user. Knowing Sherlock he'd probably chose chemistry partly to aid him in the experiments he loved so much and partly so he could learn how to create the perfect snowball. A mixture of his preferred drugs, heroin and cocaine.

There was so much about him she didn't know.

She wanted to know.

She ran her finger across the spines of the books on the first bookcase shelf.

How many of these were hollowed out for drugs?

She'd felt worse for wear upon being discharged from hospital earlier and she easily let Sherlock persuade her to come back to his, where he could keep an eye on her.

As long as he didn't apologise.

And he hadn't.

He didn't mention last nights events at all.

In the cab he'd told her that he knew the attending doctor and that nothing was going to show up on her record to which she thanked him and the rest of journey was made in silence.

Even when they'd arrived at the flat he'd spoken only to ask if she was okay and get her settled into his clothes and bed.

Then she'd asked him if he was okay and he'd just left the room without replying.

She'd spent the following hour or so drifting in and out of sleep, she wasn't that tired and the sickness feeling was slowly subsiding. Now she was wondering aimlessly around his room.

She dare not touch anything though, he'd be able to tell in a instant.

She sighed and flopped back on the bed. She wasn't angry at him, she was disappointed but what more could she expect? He was an addict, getting through this wasn't going to be easy she knew that. Plus he hadn't made her take heroin. That was her own stupid fault.

She heard a voice that wasn't just Sherlock talking to himself.

Another male voice.

John.

Sitting up she recognised the sound of footsteps around kitchen floor but couldn't make out clearly what they were saying.

She got up and opened the bedroom door wincing at the sound the handle made knowing Sherlock probably heard it, but that didn't stop her. Peeking through the small gap she made she saw John walking around with a cup of something, picking up a file from the table then walking into the living room. Tossing the file over to Sherlock and sitting opposite him in his chair.

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Sherlock flipped through the file that John had brought round, the one he'd picked up from Lestrade.

"This is utter crap," he said scanning his eyes over police reports and mug shots, nothing of importance, no crimes of the century that Moriarty would lower himself to. He doubted his enemy would be interested in petty theft and carjacking.

"Is this all Lestrade gave you?"

"Yes,"

"He's an idiot to think this has any relation to Moriarty, what a waste of my time."

"Maybe you should text him or something, I'm sure he didn't go through all that trouble to waste your time."

"Not intentionally," he said, tossing the file to the side. "It must make him feel relevant thinking he's helped me crack a case. Idiots, the whole bloody lot of them!"

John's eyes warily met his own. Sherlock knew he'd thrown the file down a little to hard and spoken a little too harshly.

And his knee was bouncing up and down, foot tapping on the floor.

He couldn't help it.

"If you want to have a fag Sherlock I'm too tired to argue," sighed John. "Mary was feeing sleepless last night meaning I suffered too."

"No, no need for a smoke."

He would smoke a pack of ten in a heartbeat if his cravings could be fixed just like that.

He stood up and removed his dressing gown, flinging it over the side of the chair then nearly made the mistake of rolling up the sleeves of his shirt which would reveal the fresh needle marks. He opened one of the windows letting the cool breeze hit his face.

He was hot and restless and John's suspicious eyes were still burning holes into him.

"Molly," said John suddenly.

Molly who was asleep in his bed.

Molly who would undoubtedly distract his body from the withdrawal symptoms.

Molly, the mere thought of her had managed to turn him on within less than a minute.

"Molly," Sherlock muttered wistfully.

"I see you two made up."

"How do you know that?"

"Mrs Hudson told me as I was coming up. Said Molly came over yesterday and when she came up you two were no where to be seen with clothes scattered every..." John trailed off, eyes widened, "please tell me you didn't do it in this chair Sherlock."

"Not yet." Sherlock gave him a sly smile.

"So, sparing me the graphic details, how did you win her over Romeo?"

"I told her that I needed her," Sherlock simply explained taking much joy at the taken aback look on John's face.

"You told her that you needed her?"

"Yes."

"That sounds too much like something..."

"You would say."

"...A human being would say."

Sherlock gave him a sideways glance. "I am human, just mentally superior to the high percentage of the population that are morons."

"So just everybody else that isn't you."

"The majority."

Sherlock walked over to the sofa and jumped on it, repeatedly pacing from one end to the other.

Still restless.

Still wanting Molly.

"You took my advice then?"

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "How so?"

"I told you to let her know that you was as vulnerable as her. And you did."

"No I never." Sherlock felt repulsed at this being said out loud despite the fact it was true.

"Oh please," John chuckled. "Sherlock Holmes admitting he needs someone other than himself, your brain must be at war with your heart right now."

"You really do love to romanticise everything involving me," Sherlock scoffed. "No wonder Mrs Hudson thinks that we're gay."

John rolled his eyes. "Don't remind me. So I'm curious, you told Molly you needed her, why?"

"For sex."

Not a lie.

"Molly wouldn't have slept with you if you told her that."

"For friendship."

"And she still slept with you? Molly doesn't strike me as the friends with benefits type."

"Believe what you want."

"You're going to hurt her."

Sherlock jumped off the sofa and made his way to the kitchen area, "No I won't!"

"Admit you have feelings for her then."

"So you can blog about it?"

"Taking that as a yes then."

"Shut up John." He started opening random kitchen drawers and moving the contents around before moving on to the next one, for no reason in particular. He just needed to busy himself.

The next drawer he opened he found his hollowed drug book and the syringe Molly had used last night.

That's why he was looking through the draws. He knew he'd hidden this stuff in one of them.

"You alright there?" John asked looking over his shoulder. "Seriously just have a cigarette if you want one."

"No," Sherlock snapped. "I just need the bathroom," he continued more calmly. "Won't be long."

When John turned his head away he took a packet of powder from the book, shut the draw and made his way to the bathroom. Locking the door behind him.

He sat on the side of the bath and held the packet out in front of him. He couldn't.

Not with John here.

Not with Molly here.

But he had to.

His hand started shaking and out of rage he threw the packet at the door that connected the bathroom with his bedroom.

She was in there.

She could help.

Tell him no and whatnot.

Satisfy one of his needs.

She knew that he was in here. When he'd walked up the hall her shadow quickly moved behind the bedroom door that he hadn't left ajar like so.

He got up, retrieved the pack putting back in his pocket and pulled open the connecting door to his bedroom before he could second guess himself.

Molly instantaneously jumped away from his main bedroom door and went red.

"How are you feeling?" He asked before she started coming up with a bunch of excuses about her current position.

"Better thank you," she replied. "I was just checking out this periodic table poster," she lied weakly.

"Oh you like it?." Sherlock played along, inching towards her.

"I-I do like it."

"Mmm..."

Quickly he'd backed her against the wall.

He wanted to kiss her so bad. To have her against the wall, on the bed, on the floor. He wasn't fussed.

Instead he extended his hand, an act that surprised himself and tenderly rubbed her cheek.

"I'm glad you're feeling better Molly."

This made her smile, the first one he'd had since yesterday.

Then he continued, "There's cocaine in my pocket, I was going to use it just now, but I haven't."

Her smile faulted slightly, not saying anything she hesitantly felt his trouser pockets and slipped her hand into the left one.

He caught a gasp between his lips. Her hand was so close to the arousal that had been painfully aching against the constraints of his trousers for too long in his opinion.

She removed the packet and took a hold of the hand he had on her cheek. He followed silently as she led him back into the bathroom. Her intentions quickly became clear when she lifted the toilet lid up and looked at him. He nodded and she proceeded in flushing the cocaine away.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"John will get curious in a moment, you should go back and join him."

John could wait.

His drug cravings weren't going to be satisfied but he had other cravings that needed seeing to.

Without warning he crashed his lips against Molly's and forced her against the bathroom door. She didn't struggle and in no time at all her hands were around his neck pulling him closer to her.

He left her mouth and started kissing his way down her neck.

"What about John." She said quietly.

"Sorry I don't do threesomes."

"Sherlock he's in the living room. If he doesn't come looking for you in a minute he's surely going to hear us."

During her panicking Molly didn't seem to notice that Sherlock had pushed her panties to the side until his thumb dragged across her clit.

Before she had the chance to moan Sherlock covered her mouth with his again.

"We'll just have to be quick and quiet."

He slipped a finger into her wet entrance and growled as she bit down on his lip. He pumped his finger in and out with a steady rhythm and her hands undone the first few buttons on his shirt before giving up and going straight for his trousers.

Undoing them she pulled them down slightly and slipped her hand into his boxer shorts to get a grip on him.

He gasped at her cold hands but appreciated the contact so much so he was sure he'd finish within the first couple of strokes.

"Sherlock!"

"Dammit,"

What great timing his friend had.

"Yes John!?"

Molly let go of him and he dropped his hands to the side.

"You're taking your time," said John. His voice was getting closer. "I need to use the toilet."

Sherlock moved Molly to the side, zipped up his trousers and opened the door only slightly, sticking his head out, John was standing right in front of him.

"You can't sorry," Sherlock said. Trying to ignore the fact Molly was running her finger slowly up and down his back.

"Sherlock, no time for games. I'm busting."

"It's broken," Sherlock lied. "I better call a plumber."

"Is it just the flush again?"

"Yes."

"Oh that's okay, I can fix it. It always used to play up."

"No you can't," Sherlock replied quickly. "It's different now."

"Sherlock why is your lip bleeding? And are those stitches on your forehead?"

Sherlock licked his lips and sure enough he could taste blood. Molly's doing. And his tousled hair was no longer covering the injury on his head.

"Just bit my lip and walked into a cupboard the other day. Now you really should get going whilst I call a plumber, thanks for bringing over the files."

"Something's going on Sherlock."

Molly's hand left his back and he made the mistake of quickly glancing behind the door. She was taking the t-shirt he'd given her to wear off along with her panties.

Teasing.

Since when did Molly play games like this with him?

He didn't mind.

"John go now," Sherlock growled, trying to shut the door but a foot stopped it.

"Not until you tell me why you're acting so weird."

He saw John's eyes curiously look at his unbuttoned shirt. He daren't embarrass Molly at the risk of her wrath so came up with the second best excuse to quickly get rid of the man before him.

"I was masturbating. Bit my lip, very intense stuff."

John looked more embarrassed than Sherlock felt at this fake confession.

He backed away from the detective and said, "You know what, I'll just use Mrs Hudson's bathroom on my way out."

"You do that."

"Wait until I've actually left next time to do something like this please."

"Sorry," said Sherlock uncaringly as John walked away, stopping to giving him a disgusted look.

When he heard John's footsteps descending the stairs Sherlock turned to Molly only to find that she wasn't there anymore. She was in the bedroom, laying on the bed waiting for him.

He undone the rest of his shirt buttons and kicked off his trousers to the side then lowered himself over her.

The impeding deed was worth embarrassing himself like that for.

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That afternoon, after their latest passionate encounter, Sherlock had asked Molly to get rid of the rest of the drugs for him. Honestly admitting that he probably wouldn't do it himself.

She flushed what she could down the toilet and put the syringes and over paraphernalia to one side to dispose of when she left.

By the evening he was already obviously trying hard to go against the withdrawal symptoms. She could see how frustrated he'd get every time his hand started shaking or he'd grab his knee at the first sign of his leg bouncing up and down, foot tapping on the floor. And at the same time he kept walking around aimlessly, he was yawning and looking tired too.

She was certain his violin would have ended up against the living room wall if she hadn't pried it out of his hands.

Now he was sitting on the living room floor, rapping his fingers together with his back against the sofa on which she was sat cross legged upon

"I heard you speaking to John earlier," she admitted.

"I know."

"He asked you about me."

"Yes he knows. Sorry."

"I gathered, he's your best friend after all. You boys gossip more than girls." She chuckled prompting Sherlock to tilt his head back and look up at her with a look of disdain at being labeled as a gossip.

"Thank you for saying that you wouldn't hurt me," she continued.

"That was to shut John up. Of course I'll hurt you."

"Oh..."

"It's hardly surprising. Just because we're having sexual intercourse and you've agreed to help me that doesn't make me any less of a drug addict or any less of an arsehole. I am not lying that when I say that my any means possible I will deceive you to get a fix and I apologise in advance. I don't purposely want to hurt you but it's inevitable."

"Just don't give in Sherlock."

"It's too late for that though isn't it? For the both of us."

He was right. In fact his successful rehabilitation would end up in her getting hurt. When he was better again she'd be in so deep but he would almost definitely make their situation go back to how it was before. Him shamelessly flirting for random body parts, her shamelessly giving in despite being angry with him for some reason or another. And no sex.

He would definitely put a stop to that.

Though it would probably be for the best, going cold turkey after this. She knew she couldn't continue sleeping with him forever, not if she ever wanted the picket fence life she always dreamt of.

"When John said you had feelings for me, you didn't deny it."

He didn't reply.

Stupid Molly.

He was probably thinking of a way to word his lack of feelings to her nicely.

"Mycroft thinks we're in a relationship." Came the sudden change of conversation from him.

It took Molly a moment to process words and then she understood what he'd just said.

"You told your brother we had sex?"

"I haven't told him. It was the Mycroft in my mind palace. He manages to be more annoying than the one in real life."

"What do you think?"

"Hmm, about what?" He tilted his head back at her again, eyebrows knitting together, seemingly lost for words at the simple question and buying time to find an answer with his own.

If it had been anyone else but him, she'd point that out as a sign of uncertainty. But it wasn't anyone else.

"About what mind palace Mycroft said?"

"We are friends, that is a relationship."

She gave a hearty sigh, "Have you ever been in any sort of romantic relationship Sherlock or even on a date?"

"Janine," he replied. "I had to pursue her, even though that wasn't much of a challenge. We went on dates, I went through the motions of being a good boyfriend."

"Oh,"

"That's the closest to a romantic relationship I've been in."

"How did you find it?"

"Tedious, having to pretend to be interested in spending time with another person and listen to mundane stories about their life is a chore. How you people cope with such a thing is beyond me."

"Because in most relationships Sherlock you actually feel something towards the person and want to take an interest in their life."

"Hmm, duly noted."

For a moment she thought he'd question her about what was going on in her life.

But, he didn't of course.


	7. Chapter 7

**SHERLOCK: NOT OKAY**

_**Author's note: **thanks for the kind reviews on the last chapter hehe! Feel free to leave more as I love the feedback! ;) hope you're enjoying the story and I hope I'm staying in character as I'm finding it increasingly hard to do so with Sherlock's complex mind... But I like the challenge!_

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**CHAPTER SEVEN:**

The next few weeks passed quickly for Molly. She allowed Sherlock to pester her at work and get on with his experiments in the lab between the time he spent with John, Lestrade and Mycroft working on the 'Moriarty' case. And when they both had finished with their day jobs she would usually find herself in his apartment where she could watch over him.

The first three days of cold turkey had been really bad for him. Vomiting agitation and restlessness hit him the worst. She just watched as he worked himself hard to try and keep busy but extreme lack of sleep combined with this didn't help. She'd usually wake up in the morning with no one beside her only to find him looking over the same case files or monitoring the same experiment he had been when she'd gone to bed the evening before. Luckily these side effects soon subsided.

He would quietly slip into the bed next to her now, usually just after midnight and she'd pretend to be asleep but eight out of ten times he'd still be up before her the next morning.

She was satisfied he was getting more rest though.

They hadn't had sex since the time that John nearly caught them out.

He'd kissed her several times though, on the rare two out of ten times he'd be next to her when she woke up. He'd always give her the same small smile before leaning over her and claiming her mouth, hands wandering before he pulled away almost looking disappointed at something. Then he'd get out of bed as if nothing had happened. Once at St Bart's it happened too. She'd been looking at something through a microscope and when she looked up he was just standing there and then he kissed her. Pushing her against the nearest surface with the same urgency as their initial encounters before pulling away with the look of disappointment and casually asking if she would like to join him for lunch.

It was frustrating for her to say the least. She wanted him more and more everyday but for him with her it seemed he wanted less. She wouldn't question it though, she didn't want to risk scaring him away. If their physical intimacy was dwindling out she intended to saviour every last minute of it.

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Sherlock felt like crap.

He knew it was to be expected though.

He wasn't vomiting anymore which was a relief and his state of agitation and restlessness was beginning to disappear. He was now getting frustrated at idiotic people and inanimate objects no more than usual.

Thankfully and surprisingly, Mrs Hudson hardly pestered him about Molly's increased presence around the flat and even began to leave out morning tea for two. She also popped up less, probably scared of what she'd walk in on.

John always texted before turning up at the flat now, he too was probably scared of what he'd walk in on. Especially after the 'toilet' incident. He wouldn't stay long though, not with Mary so close to her due date and he always seemed too busy in checking his text messages to take note of any behaviour that seemed out of the ordinary even for Sherlock.

Mycroft he'd gone to meet briefly twice. Not wanting him at the flat, he didn't want him to find out Molly was practically living their temporarily. He could tell his brother could sense there was something up though. It wasn't exactly the first time he'd witnessed his withdrawal from narcotics. But Sherlock was confident in the belief that his older brother was reliant on John to tell him if something was wrong.

Molly.

He's grown fond of having the pathologist around.

His pathologist.

She was less like a nervous teenager around him now, still occasionally awkward and still quickly turned red when he caught her staring but she was more relaxed around him. She would curl up on the sofa quietly reading a book, leaving him to stress out about something without feeling the need to try and help him by getting in the way.

She didn't nag him when he wasn't sleeping or eating properly. She'd sympathise with him and tell him he was doing well and that it would get better soon.

He took note of all the little things she done for him.

He wanted to repay her.

He tried.

But it wouldn't work.

He'd kiss her, he'd let his hands explore her body.

It still didn't work.

His mind was telling him he wanted it, he wanted to feel the high he got from being inside her. He wanted her to feel it too.

But his body told him otherwise.

He went from being able to get an erection from just the thought of her to nothing at all.

It was frustrating.

He knew she was frustrated too despite not saying anything yet.

At present he and Molly were walking down Savile Row. He had a garment carrier in his hand that contained two new made to measure suits from the bespoke tailors, Spencer Hart. He'd helped the founder out of a right tough spot a few years back and now got his clothes there for free. There was nothing wrong with the suits he currently owned but he'd lost a considerable amount of weight lately and even with a belt he hated the roomy and baggy feeling of his trousers, same for his jackets and shirts.

Molly, who only worked up to midday today had offered to accompany him.

It had been a long time since he'd had companionship whilst doing something as simple as clothes shopping. He'd tagged along with John one time to the local Tesco to buy cigarettes that John refused to get him and they'd ended up arguing about John's ridiculously annoying attempts to chat up the woman behind the kiosk.

Fortunately for him Molly hadn't tried any shameless flirting with shop workers. Although she was now hastily crossing the road to get to the giant Waterstones bookstore. to admire a collection of novels in the window then she began chatting to a couple of women who he deduced as tourists that were also looking at the books.

He stood back and watched from a distance he deemed safe enough that the tourists wouldn't begin to engage him in whatever excited conversation they were having.

Then, without warning someone hit him on the arm. He was about to mutter profanities at whoever wasn't watching where they were going but it turned out to be his self proclaimed 'protégé'.

"Billy?" Sherlock questioned.

"Shezza!" The younger man grinned, pulling his hood down. Unshaven, dishevelled hair, sunken eyes as always. He held out his fist to Sherlock but when he didn't 'bump' it became more serious.

"Sherlock."

"What do you want Billy? And have you been following me?"

"It's Ricky."

Ever since taking to Dr Granger, this man had occasionally popped into his thoughts. He just knew that somehow Ricky was going to try and cause some trouble for him.

He gritted his teeth. "I do not have time for this now."

"He's after you man."

"I thought I told you that I'm not into the drugs thing anymore. Pass on the message to him." He glanced at Molly who thankfully was still deep in conversation with the two women.

"You screwed him over big time!" Billy was beginning to raise his voice and several passers by turned their heads to look at the mismatched men. Sherlock grabbed Billy by the arm and pulled him into the alleyway besides the bookshop.

"How exactly did I screw him over? I don't owe him money. I didn't even buy anything from him."

"That geezer that you did buy from, word's got out about how good he's gear is and he's now getting Ricky's regulars. Rick takes it personally."

"I still don't see how this is my problem."

"I don't know what went on between you years ago, but Ricky seems to hate you. This is just an excuse for him to come after you."

"Well he knows my address and my phone number is on the website. I shall be expecting him to be in contact soon."

Sherlock turned to walk away. As he'd told Dr Granger, a junkie with a grudge was the least of his worries.

"Wait!"

"What?" Sherlock snapped impatiently.

"That's how I knew how to find you. He has people tracking your every moves."

Interesting.

Ricky never put in this much effort before.

In fact he wasn't one to plan things out, he was more of a go straight in and attack sort of person.

What had changed?

He turned back to hear more.

"People are scared of him, they'll do what he says. He's a big player when it comes to folks like us."

"Us?"

"Me, I mean me, not you... As I was saying he's watching you and not just you..."

"John?"

He actually hoped he'd say John, someone that could look after themselves against such a man.

"No, the girl, Molly."

He knew it.

Sherlock's heart sunk. His first reaction was to drop the garment bag on the floor and charge at Billy, pushing him up against the wall.

It wasn't Billy's fault though.

He had to calm down.

Billy was just trying to help.

"Listen," Sherlock growled in the man's ear.

"I-I'm listening."

"Good," Sherlock removed his forearm from the man's chest that was keeping him pinned to the wall and gave him a second to compose himself before telling him what he needed to happen.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Molly didn't have to look far to find where Sherlock had wandered off to.

She assessed the picture that was beofe her.

Sherlock was down an alleyway with a known drug user whispering about something.

Whatever way she looked at it spelt 'bad news'.

She wasted no time in making her presence known. "Sherlock!"

"Ahh, Molly," he said. "Myself and Billy were just catching up but we're all done here."

"Hi Dr Hooper." Billy raised his hand at her with a goofy smile. "I remember you from the lab. God I'd hate to get on the wrong side of you."

"What did you just give him?"

No time for small talk.

"Nothin'," Billy replied.

"Tell me!" She marched up to the blonde and he held his hands up as he packed away.

"Look I didn't give him nothin' I swear. Please don't slap me."

"Anything," Sherlock corrected.

"Shut up Sherlock." Molly gave him a warning glare.

"Molly," Sherlock put his hand on her shoulder and spun her round. "I know I told you not to trust me but I'm not stupid enough to do a deal right under your nose."

"But then what about..."

"Billy had some leads for me in the Moriarty case."

She wasn't sure whether or not to believe him as much as she wanted too. Then he began patting his pockets.

"Search me," he said. "You won't find anything."

They had a brief stare down until she gave up first.

"Fine," she said.

Billy took no time in shuffling away from her saying, "I'm going to be off now. Erm I'll just text you when it's dealt with." Then he quickly disappeared out the alleyway and into a crowd of shoppers.

Sherlock picked up his garment bag and began walking away without a word.

He couldn't actually be mad at her could he?

She stayed a few steps behind him and they walked until they got to Leicester Square. He jumped up on one of the walls surrounding the grass and and fountain. Prowling back and forth as if he was trying to spot people in the crowd.

She didn't question him.

Then he jumped down and carried on walking until they reached a main road. He hailed a taxi to tame them back to his flat and they both climbed in.

"You're doing well Sherlock," she finally said. He leaned his head back and smiled.

"Thanks,"

Then his smile disappeared.

"Have you noticed anyone suspicious turn up at your work?"

"Apart from the usual dead people?" She joked, but he didn't seem amused. "No, why?"

"Outside of work then? Anywhere?"

"No and no. Why?"

"Avoid cabs for a while. Public transport only."

"Why?"

"There's more people around if you take the tube or bus. I don't want you alone in a cab..."

"No, why the sudden weirdness? What's going on?"

"I don't want to worry you."

"Oh it's a bit late for that. Is this about Moriarty?"

"There's people in this world that really hate me, they will target the people close to me. Moriarty is just one of the people who've done it before. Seeing how involved you are with me now, it's better safe than sorry."

"This is sudden. You've never worried like this before."

"I'm not worrying, I'm just taking proper precautions. If Billy and his leads are correct I don't want to take any chances."

"So what did you find out on the Moriarty case?"

He didn't answer her as she expected, when ever she asked him on details about it he would only give the bare minimum if anything at all.

"I'm scared."

"Don't be," he said confidentially. "Just tell me if you notice anything suspicious."

She nodded, then the silence returned.

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"What if I'm out late?"

"Excuse me?" Sherlock dragged the bow across his violin once more before stopping.

Molly had ventured from her usual spot on the sofa to John's chair opposite his own.

"I don't like getting public transport alone really late at night. I was watching Crimewatch the other evening and this woman was attacked after getting off the last tube at Notting Hill, it was pretty much deserted..." She gave him a sheepish grin. "Sorry."

"No, that's understandable," he agreed. "If you require someone to pick you up then just call me, I'll make sure you're safe. Always."

"Thanks."

He nodded and wasn't expecting her to then stand up and walk over to him.

Hands clutched behind back.

Left foot scuffing at the floor.

Eyes focusing anywhere but his.

Whatever she'd just planned to do, nerves got the better of her.

He took the lead and stretched out his hand to her, inviting her to take a seat on his lap.

He was comfortable with her legs draped across him, arm hooked around his neck. His own hand resting on the small of her back and the other still holding his violin.

There would be no playing from this position. So he set it on the small table in front of him.

It wasn't a completely unfamiliar position to him, Janine had often taken refuge like this during the course of their fake relationship.

But now, with Molly, it felt more intimate.

"What did you want to be when you was younger?"

"Eh..."

"You don't have to answer..."

"A pirate."

"A pirate?" Molly chuckled.

He felt the heat in his cheeks rising. "Yes, a pirate."

"How do you get from a pirate to studying chemistry at uni?"

"My brother used to tell me a lot of stories when we were younger and the only one that didn't end in my demise was this one story about a pirate."

"That's so cute."

"I wouldn't call it cute." He was sure his cheeks were bright red by now. "I got a pirate dress up set for Christmas, ended up being Mycroft's worst nightmare every time Redbeard and I turned over his room looking for the hidden treasure."

"Who's Redbeard?"

"My dog."

"You had a dog?"

"Yes. Called Redbeard as we just established."

"That's even cuter."

"Is everything I do cute to you?"

Now her cheeks matched his.

That was cute.

"Mycroft is to blame for the chemistry as well. Once he decided it was time I outgrew my childish fantasies he persuaded our parents to buy me a science kit so I could 'focus my genius on something worth while'."

She smiled. He knew what was coming.

"It was all very cute stuff," he said before she could say it.

She laughed and he couldn't ignore the fact her fingers were tenderly stroking the back of his neck.

He took the hand that resting on her knee and interlocked their fingers.

The corners of her mouth twitched as she tried to hide her shy smile.

He couldn't repay her right now by means of sex.

But there were other ways to show physical intimacy.

'You said you wasn't going to hurt her Sherlock, this is unfair. You know her feelings, this is sort of behaviour will give her false hope of more than just friends with benefits.'

"Shut up John," he muttered.

'Or maybe you'll be the one to get...'

"For goodness sake!"

"What?" Molly was looking at him confused.

He couldn't explain this one.

"So why a pathologist?"

Her confusion quickly went away as she begun to tell the story she had told him at least two times before when he hadn't asked.

Just as well he already knew in case she ever expected him to remember it because right now he wasn't hearing a word she was saying.

Why had his heart rate sped up a fraction?

Why were the fingers on the back of his neck suddenly the best feeling ever?

And the thumb on the hand holding on to hers seemingly had a mind of it's own, rubbing circles on her skin.

Why had she stopped talking? And why when she kissed him did he jerk his head back suddenly?

"I am so sorry!" She exclaimed.

He anticipated her next move to jump off his lap so he tightened the grip on her hand and moved his other arm around her waist to pull her down.

"I wasn't expecting that," he tried to sound apologetic.

She'd never initiated a kiss between them before like this.

"I didn't mean to," she explained.

He didn't say anything.

"The way you was staring, I just got caught up. Stupid, I know."

"I'm not angry," he said. "It just took me by surprise."

That was an understatement.

"But I'm ready now," he subconsciously licked his dry lips. "You can try again."

She stifled her own giggle by leaning down to kiss him again.

The physical part was the same. It felt different though. Not fuelled by lust or curiosity.

Right now he wasn't just focused on getting the next base and not just because he still probably couldn't perform physically right now.

Just a kiss.

It was simple.

His hand travelled from on her waist and now it was his fingers that tenderly stroked the back of her neck whilst hers clutched his curly locks.

He was fully aware at the increasing speed of his heart rate but decided to question that another time.

Right now he really wanted to enjoy the simplicity of this content feeling before it became inevitably complicated.

He almost felt disappointed when she ended the kiss.

She let her forehead rest against his which he was glad of so she couldn't see the gigantic smile he was struggling to resist. He was sure hers was just as big.

He shut his eyes and inhaled deeply several times.

"Hey,"

"Yeah?"

"Shall we take this to the bedroom."

His eyes snapped open and she moved her head away from his.

Desire and want filled her eyes and the way she shifted herself on top of him, probably a subconscious move on her part to cause friction. He could tell that right now there was only one thing she wanted.

She wanted something he couldn't give her at the moment.

Something more than this.

She knew what they were. He'd drummed it into her from the beginning that they were friends. He'd also told John that and the mind palace Mycroft.

He didn't have the right of just being able to kiss her like that without the intentions of giving her the 'benefits' of being friends with benefits.

It looked liked he really did need her now whilst she was the one that wanted him.

The shoe was on the other foot, so to speak and he hadn't worked out why or what emotions were involved in this. It was just the basic human instinct off 'needing' something for no logical or beneficial reason.

The same sort of need from being drug dependent.

And that was dangerous.

This definitely wasn't okay.

He swallowed hard as she looked expectantly at him. He couldn't tell her that he couldn't perform, he was sure it was a side effect of his drug use but she may get offended and take it personally. Or even if she did understand, how long would she stick around knowing that he couldn't provide her with the only benefit she was getting out of being here.

Relief came over him when he heard the sound of his phone ringing. He leaned forward and grabbed it off the table.

"Excuse me Molly, it's Mycroft. I'm expecting his call."

His brother could come in handy sometimes.


	8. Chapter 8

**SHERLOCK: NOT OKAY**

_**Author's note:**_ thanks for all the wonderful feedback! :) this chapter other seemed to move way faster than all my other ones! Is this okay? Or should I slow the pace down again? whatevee you guys think, I'm open to suggestions as I want to make this story awesome for you! :D And as always I'm fighting to keep Sherlock in character as I develop him more, I'm watching the boxsets over and over again just to try and get into his head. And it's not easy haha!

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**CHAPTER EIGHT**

"So would you care to explain?"

"I know Billy's already told you everything, you don't need to hear it again."

"Sherlock!"

"I do not need a lecture from you. Have you done what I ask?"

"That would be highly illegal Sherlock."

"That's rich coming from you. I'm only asking you to 'relocate' the man. No violence necessary."

"See Dr Granger."

Sherlock's grip tightened on his mobile and he took a long drag of his fag. "No."

"Do it."

"I don't need to."

"You obviously do."

"It was just a small problem," Sherlock lied. "Last year, for the Magnussen case as you already know but it just took a little bit longer than I expected to get over it."

"I know when you're lying Sherlock." Mycroft sighed and Sherlock could hear him inhaling his own cigarette.

"You know if I had a serious problem John would have gone running to you straight away."

"Hmm..." Mycroft had no answer for that one. "Why don't you sort this one out for yourself? Seems pretty drastic to call on the big guns for such a small problem."

Sherlock snorted, "Your ego knows no bounds does it?"

"And yours does?"

"True," Sherlock shrugged despite being stood on the door step where nobody was watching. "I would sort this out myself but it's not just me he's targeting and thanks the British government not being able to look after their own country properly I'm a tad preoccupied doing their job."

"John."

"What about him?"

"I feel almost sorry for the man. Wife, baby on the way and he's still be dragged into your mess."

"It's not John."

"Lestrade or that housekeeper of yours?"

"Molly Hooper."

"Your pathologist?"

"My pathologist," Sherlock muttered feeling almost proud of these words.

"You've been spending an awful lot of time with her lately."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, he should have guessed his brother knew something was going on.

"'Romeo Hat Detective and his new doctor girlfriend' the tabloids are going to go crazy for this."

"It's just sex Mycroft," he grinned at the sound if his brother choking awkwardly.

"Behave Sherlock," Mycroft groaned. "We've already established you have an addictive personality and attachment issues. You're a grown man, not a hormone crazy teenager on heat. This better not get in the way of anything important."

Molly was important.

"I do not have attachment issues," he said defensively. "And a little downtime doesn't hurt anyone or would you rather I snort coke?"

"Oh, you do downtime now? You really are becoming one of them."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"Like I said, as long as you keep your focus on what's important."

Molly was very important.

"I would never dare to let you down brother," he said sarcastically. "Molly and I aren't in a relationship so no need to go blabbing to mother and father. Don't want them thinking they're going to get them grandchildren one of us apparently has to give them."

"Poor delusional souls," his brother sighed. "I will see what I can do about your situation on one condition."

"Go on."

"You stay away from Molly Hooper unless it's a professional meeting until I can be assured this country is safe from Moriarty. And you see Dr Granger regularly."

"Bollocks."

There was no way any of that was going to happen.

"I don't want to risk any of your extra curricular hobbies being exploited as weaknesses like they have been in the past."

Sherlock could believe his brothers concern was genuine but he could also believe that this was just another instance of his brother wanting him to live his life the way he thought he should and not how Sherlock actually wanted.

"No."

"Well then you can deal with that Ricky yourself."

"Fine!"

Nobody spoke for a few seconds after this, Sherlock didn't hang up though hoping his brother would change his mind with his offer.

"Sherlock, you know that I wor..."

Definitely wasn't going to change his mind.

Sherlock ended the call and sighed, tossing his half smoked cigarette into the road. Not bothering to stamp it out.

Everything was such a mess right now.

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'Has he gone off sex?'

'Signs he doesn't like me anymore?'

'How to become good enough for him?'

Sherlock grew increasingly annoyed as he scrolled through the browsing history on Molly's iPad.

He was to blame though.

He'd just switched off all type of physical intimacy towards her since that kiss in his armchair a week ago.

The kiss.

The kiss that still lingered on his lips.

His dysfunctional sleep patten was becoming disturbed once again as now, nearly every night he kept replaying that kiss in his head trying to make sense of his feelings.

His heart raced just thinking about it.

He wasn't certain of how he felt towards Molly but there was one thing he was sure of and it was that he was the one that wasn't good enough for her.

He had nothing to offer her. Apart from a lack of a sex life and the constant threat of being put in danger with people after him.

He started to scroll quickly through the camera roll for no real purpose in particular and then decided he'd had enough and tossed the device to the side on his bed where she'd left it behindthis morning.

He knew being such a defeatist wasn't becoming of him.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Sherlock was waiting for her outside Bart's when she finished work that evening. She wasn't expecting it as it was still relatively early, 8:30pm, she hadn't asked him to come and he hadn't texted her.

"Are you free this evening?" Was the first thing he asked her.

"Yeah," she laughed nervously. "If you want to use the lab you should have text first..."

"Let's go out tonight."

"Like on a case?"

"No, there's an open air concert at Hyde Park."

If she didn't know Sherlock any better she would have assumed this as some sort of date. "I'd love to come," she smiled. "But I need to go back home first and change."

Even if it wasn't a date she wanted to make more of an effort than faded jeans, the first creased blouse and colour clashing cardigan she could find when she'd woke up late this morning and a satchel which screamed 'school girl'.

"No." He grabbed her by the hand. "You look just fine and the concert starts in half an hour. The first performance is one of my favourite Bach compositions. Wouldn't want to miss it."

Classical, of course it was. Not high up there on her own list of favourite music genres but she would bare it for him.

She blushed as he held her hand until he went to hail a taxi.

"Molly?" He said inquisitively as he climbed into the car after her. She got seated and looked across at him.

"Yes."

"When you said you needed to go back and change, whose flat was you planning on going back to?"

"Yours, most of my clothes are there at the moment. Why?"

"Oh, nothing."

She cocked a brow at him. "No, tell me. Why?"

"You just referred to it as home. That's all."

"Sorry," she apologised automatically. "Force of habit."

"It's fine. If you feel at home there then that's just fine."

"Thank you."

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Half an hour into the concert she had already got through half a bottle of red wine and beat her high scores on Flappy Bird, Tippy Tap and Candy Crush. Sherlock on the other hand had been mesmerised by the performance, he hadn't dragged his eyes away from the stage.

Forty five minutes into the concert she wished she'd bought another bottle of wine from the Sainsbury's Local opposite the entrance of the park they'd gone in.

Fifty five minutes into the concert and Sherlock finally clocked that she wasn't enjoying this as much as he was.

"It's not that I entirely hate this type if music," she explained. "I really like it when you're playing your violin. I mean I really appreciate... Okay I'm going to shut up now."

The wine on an empty stomach was getting to her more than she liked. That didn't stop her downing the rest of the bottle. Sherlock done the same with the one bottle if beer he'd been nursing for the past hour. Then he got up, took her bottle and weaved through the crowd on the grass to the black bin liner already over flowing with various drinks bottles.

When he returned he didn't sit back down.

"My apologies Molly, I just thought you'd like some downtime time outside the flat other than work."

He started to walk off and she was sure that was her cue to follow. He'd left his coat on the ground as it was spread out underneath them. She picked it up along with her bag and jogged, in anything but a straight line, up to him.

"Thank you," he said taking his coat and folding it over his arm. "I should have asked you what you wanted to do."

"I subjected you to a day of Glee the other Sunday. We're even. We can go back and watch the rest if you want, I really don't mind."

"We don't have to."

In her tipsy state it took her longer than it should have to realise that she wasn't following him out of the park. He'd led her deeper into it and they were now going down the walkway next the long body of water known as The Serpentine.

"Don't think you're not good enough for me Molly," he said without looking back at her. "That's definitely not the case."

'How to become good enough for him?'

That had been one of most recent Google searches.

It sunk in that there was an extremely high chance he had gone through her iPad. In that case there was no hiding her concerns from him.

"Why won't you have sex with me now?" She asked and then he stopped to look at her. "If you don't want to anymore or you're bored just let me know. Please."

"That isn't the case either," he sighed, throwing his coat down on to the grass and plopping himself onto it.

"Then what is it?" She sounded desperate to know, but the alcohol in her system wouldn't let her filter her tone of voice.

"It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I can't. Physically."

"Oh," Molly's eyebrows shot up in shock and she sat on the coat next to him. "Is it me?"

"Not you," he insisted. "Mentally I want to just as much as you do. I'm certain it's side effects of the drugs. It'll probably fix itself soon." He sounded unsure but, being an awkward topic for any man let a lone him, she didn't probe him about his problem further.

The water in front of them was lit up by the stars and rippled slowly in the gentle nights breeze Sherlock sighed and looked to appreciate the beautiful scene.

She stared at him for a minute before asking, "Stupid question, but is this a date?"

Sherlock turned his attentions to her. "A date?" He was staring intently, tilting his head to the side. "But we're just friends?"

He sounded unsure again. Now he seemed unconfident whilst on the other hand the alcohol was working wonders on her bravery as usual. She'd taken the lead when they had last kissed. Maybe she needed to take control of other things too.

"We are just friends," she agreed. "Because we haven't been on a date yet."

"E-erm," his adam's apple bobbed up and down as he searched for something to say.

He wasn't flat out insisting they couldn't be more than friends.

Good sign.

"I like you and if there's any chance you like me in the same way then you owe it to yourself if anyone to give one date a chance."

He pursed his lips together. "The truth is I'm not entirely sure what I feel right now. But if you are agreeable, taking you on a date may help me to understand."

"Sherlock Holmes, are you asking me on a date? A proper date?"

"I am indeed Molly Hooper." He nodded. "Tomorrow evening, go back to yours after work and I'll pick you up at eight."

Molly discretely pinched her thigh.

She wasn't dreaming.

Sherlock Holmes had just asked her on a date.

Having sex with him was one thing. But a date, this was more romantic, more intimate. This could actually lead to something more than just sex.

"I look forward to it." She smiled and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. Then she giggled as he pushed her back and leaned over her then begun to kiss her passionately.

"Get a room!" Someone called out.

She opened her eyes and Sherlock rolled off of her, ruffling his hair before noticing the three unruly looking men with their hoods up walking along the path towards them.

"Shit," he muttered.

"Sherlock..." Molly mumbled. She'd heard about a few recent muggings late at night in the Royal Parks but never imagined it would happen right now whilst she was with him. "Just give them your stuff. Don't act smart," she whispered, voice shaking.

The slimmer of the men stood right in front of them whilst the other two stood back. He lowered his hood and she took in all his facial features, well groomed, blonde slicked back hair. Not what she was expecting.

"Sherlock," he grinned, holding out his hand. "Fancy seeing you here."

Sherlock stood up and shook the man's hand. "It's been too long Ricky."

For a moment Molly felt relieved that these were just old albeit intimidating acquaintances of Sherlock.

To her worry that relief didn't last long.

"I won't hurt the lady today if you come with me and we can come to a little agreement," the man addressed as Ricky said and as if on cue the two men behind him pulled out pistols from their waistband that had been concealed under their hoodies.

"Oh my god!" She gasped a little too loud.

Sherlock shot her a look then nodded at Ricky. "If a hair on her head is harmed you will pay."

"I'm a decent business man Sherlock, no need to worry." Ricky grinned a sickly sweet smile.

Sherlock knelt down besides her and whispered in her ear, "Once we've gone, as fast as you can get a bus to Lestrade's house, tell him I've requested you stay there for the night don't tell him why unless you haven't heard from me by 12 noon tomorrow then tell him Ricky at the warehouse."

"Sherlock..."

"He'll understand." He pressed a lingering kiss against her cheek until Ricky pulled him up forcibly.

"Time to go Casanova," Ricky growled. Then he winked at Molly. "I'll look after him for you."

She sat frozen and helpless as the two bigger men pushed Sherlock down the path behind Ricky. The moment they were out of site she picked up Sherlock's coat and and her bag and made a run for it to the nearest exit like he'd instructed.

Unfortunately this definitely wasn't a dream.


	9. Chapter 9

**NOT OKAY**

_Author's note: thanks for the kind reviews! Feel free to leave more as I love the feedback and enjoy you guy's suggestions as to what you want to happen :) hope you like this chapter!_

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**Chapter Nine:**

"Molly..." Sherlock rolled over and slowly opened his eyes. "Molly..."

"Sherlock!"

"Molly..."

"Mate!"

Definitely not Molly. He rolled over some more and hit cold hard floorboards. Then someone was helping him back up onto the beaten up old sofa he had just been asleep on.

He rubbed his eyes and recognised Billy sitting next to him.

"What..." He looked around the room. Windows were boarded up, a few men slumped on mattresses on the floor and a woman in a beaten up armchair undoing a tourniquet her arm.

He didn't know why he was here. He didn't really want to know either. That didn't stop him asking though.

"Billy, what happened? What did Ricky do?"

"Ricky?"

"Yes Ricky!" Sherlock ran his hands through his hair and shut his eyes. "He took me back to his apartment and made me take something, a pill, what was it?"

"You've lost me."

"How did I end up here?"

"I don't know. Jessica over there text me, she recognised you. You were looking to score amongst other things then you passed out cold."

"Other things?"

Billy nodded and looked him up and down. He followed the man's eyes and noticed his shirt buttons were mostly undone and his trouser zipper was too.

God no.

He glanced back over at the woman in the armchair, looking at him with an out of it albeit, content smile. Wavy black hair, dark sunken eyes and jeans and a white t-shirt that looked like they'd seen better days. She'd be good looking if she scrubbed up but nowhere near the standard of Molly.

He prayed he hadn't cheated on her. Not that, that was possible. They weren't dating so it wouldn't be cheating.

Sherlock was staring at the woman and when she caught his eye she winked at him and made her way over to him. She wasn't shy at all, straddling his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Jessica?" He confirmed.

"That's not what you was calling me last night," she leaned forward and nibbled at his ear.

He gasped at the sudden contact before jerking his head away. "What happened then?" He asked trying to sound calm.

"You just turned up here. Some of the guys downstairs tried to kick you out. But you certainly told them where to go," she was whispering again as she restarted nibbling his ear. He didn't stop her this time. "It was very very sexy."

He rest his arms on her hips and allowed her mouth to travel to his neck and her hands slip under his shirt. She ground her self into his lap and he could feel himself reacting to such stimulus. Something he hadn't experienced in quite a while.

They came to an abrupt stop when Billy loudly cleared his throat.

"Get a room kids."

Jessica laughed and climbed off of Sherlock. She produced a box of cigarettes from her jeans and stopped to offer him and Billy one, which they both declined, before lighting one for herself.

"I take it Molly doesn't know you're here?" She grinned. "You were very dominant at first, man who knew what he wanted. But you also kept muttering about your girlfriend and then passed out. Very disappointed, I expected bigger and better things from London's favourite detective."

"I don't have a girlfriend."

"I'm betting that's not what Molly thinks. You men are such dogs," she coughed and giggled at the same time.

"Do you know what I took? Did I mention it?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"Nope," Jessica replied. "But I can get you a deal on some really good gear if you want."

Sherlock turned his attention to Billy, "What the hell did Ricky do to me?"

"Ricky..." Jessica interrupted. "Ricky Wilson?"

"You know him?"

"Who doesn't?"

That was true, anyone who'd taken some form of illegal drug in London was almost guaranteed to know Ricky.

"Why am I not surprised Sherlock?"

Sherlock groaned and turned around. "Didn't expect to see you around these parts George!"

Lestrade rolled his eyes and picked up Sherlock's coat from the floor. "We're going. Now!"

"How rude Sherlock! Aren't you going to introduce me to this gentleman?" Jessica purred walking up to Lestrade and running his hand down his chest. He quickly stepped back.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade, nice to meet you."

Sherlock smirked as the woman sent him a confused look. "Don't worry," he reassured. "The detective here has a soft spot for junkies."

"Move Sherlock!"

Sherlock could tell that Lestrade wasn't happy so decided to do what he asked. He was in no hurry to leave Billy and Jessica behind in such a place anyway.

As soon as they were outside he recognised the rundown area as a place in East London, a case had bought him here once. Lestrade ushered him into the back of his beloved BMW and threw his coat at him.

Not happy indeed.

Sherlock looked at his watch. It was only 9:30am, Molly couldn't hold out until midday to inform Lestrade of his troubles. Though to be honest he was surprised she'd manage to hold out through the night.

"How did you find me?"

"I tried the warehouse and there was no one there. So I called a few friends. You're not the only one with sources and networks Sherlock," Lestrade replied, glaring at him through the rear view mirror. "I take it that John doesn't know about this drugs thing of yours going on?"

"It's not a drugs thing." Sherlock was beginning to grow tired of having to defend himself against this constant accusation, even if it was somewhat true.

"You may be able to fool Molly with that crap but not me." Lestrade started the car but only got a few metres up the road before pulling over. He hit his clenched fists against the steering wheel. "God dammit Sherlock, the amount of times I've put my job and reputation on the line bailing you out of this stupid habit you have and now you get Molly involved. What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking," Sherlock sighed, arguing with or winding Lestrade up would get him nowhere right now. "I'm off the drugs now, well I thought I was, Ricky Wilson doped me last night and that's how I ended up here."

"Ricky..." Lestrade muttered the name. "God Sherlock, you don't make this easy for yourself do you."

"You know he has it out for me."

"He's a dangerous man Sherlock!"

"Can't you just do your job and arrest him or something?"

"I'm surprised you haven't got your dear brother to get rid of him yet."

"I tried but he was being unreasonable."

"Unreasonable how?"

"Something about having to see Dr Granger and not seeing Molly."

Lestrade started the car again and begun driving. "That doesn't sound unreasonable. You're just putting Molly in danger and no doubt messing with the poor girl's head. You know how she feels about you Sherlock."

"I've been told."

"Seriously, find someone else at that hospital to do your dirty work."

"And what about my feelings?"

"Ha," Lestrade snorted, "don't make me laugh Sherlock, what feelings would they be?"

Sherlock didn't reply, he leaned his forehead on window and for the rest of the journey stared out in silence.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

After calming down Molly had somehow managed to get a decent sleep last night. She was actually grateful to have had her mind taken off of Sherlock for a while as when she woke up that was the first thing she'd thought of.

Lestrade had been patient with her, not bombarding her with questions when she'd showed up in obvious distress and offered her the use of his spare bedroom.

That morning though she couldn't take it anymore, she couldn't wait until midday like Sherlock asked. She woke Lestrade up and relayed the information as instructed. He was obviously worried but told her not to be as he set out to find the detective.

Lestrade informed Molly about an hour later by text that Sherlock was safe and they were on their way back.

When she heard the key turning in the lock of the front door her heart skipped a beat. She was unsure of what state Sherlock would be in.

She couldn't be mad at him.

She didn't want to fuss around him.

"Molly!" Lestrade called out.

"I'm in the living room." she replied. She stood up, tightening the drawstrings on the extremely baggy jogging bottoms Lestrade had lent her.

Sherlock entered the room first. No physical injuries that she could see he just looked extremely worn out. She didn't move or say anything, letting him approach her. She wasn't expecting him to wrap his arms around her and rest his neck on her shoulder but that's exactly what he did.

She hugged him back and whispered in his ear, "You're okay?"

"I think so," he sighed. "You?"

"You're safe, I'm fine."

He let go of her and she noticed Lestrade was leaning against the doorframe with a bemused expression upon his face. Sherlock didn't seem phased by this though.

"I take my coffee black, two sugars and Molly likes her tea strong with half a sugar." He slipped off his coat and dropped it over the back of the sofa. "Thanks detective inspector."

She gave Lestrade an apologetic look on Sherlock's behalf before the older man left the room.

"What happened?" She asked.

She sat on the sofa and watched him pace around as he explained what had happened. How Ricky had drugged him and he didn't have much recollection from there, and how he'd woken up in a drugs den though he didn't think he took anything more than what Ricky had given him. He then begun to explain about his history with the man.

Lestrade interrupted and handed them each their drinks.

"Thanks," Molly offered him a smile and he sat on the sofa next to her.

"You're welcome."

"I mean for everything. Letting me stay over and bringing this one back."

"I wonder if the government will start offering benefits for babysitting their number one detective."

"You should ask Mycroft."

"I might just do that Molly."

They both chuckled and Sherlock shot them a glance then stopped his pacing.

"Try not to mention this to my brother or John either. Thank you."

"I thought your brother already knew about Ricky," said Lestrade.

"Unless he's going to get rid of him on my terms then he doesn't need to know anymore."

"Mycroft knows about this Ricky guy?" Molly asked.

"I told him last week," Sherlock replied.

"Which means that you already knew."

"Yes," Sherlock nodded now he had that look that said he was trying to work out where she was going with this.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Molly had that look which meant he had said or done the wrong thing.

And he was certain he knew what thing that was.

"That's why you got all weird with me taking cabs! You thought I was in danger! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Molly..." He begun, but then Lestrade interrupted him.

"I'm sure Sherlock had his reasons. No doubt he just wanted to protect you," said the detective inspector. Molly seemed willing to accept this explanation so Sherlock gave the man a grateful nod.

Like John, Lestrade knew exactly what females liked to hear.

But so did he.

Correction, they both knew exactly how to put across what females liked to hear without sounding condescending.

Something he still needed to work on.

For the next half hour or so Sherlock sat in the armchair half paying attention to whatever small talk Lestrade and Molly were making and trying his best to remember what had happened last night. When he grew bored of listening and thinking he decided it was time to make his excuses and leave.

Molly automatically got up to leave with him but he told her he had stuff to do. He knew that she was safe in Lestrade's hands.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

More needles.

But for a legitimate purpose this time.

"We can get you on a program Sherlock. It helped before," said Dr Granger. He labeled the vial of blood he had just taken with 'William Scott' so no one would clock who it belonged to.

Sherlock ignored him and rolled down his shirt sleeve. "As well as finding out what it is, test it for every disease you could possibly think of. I don't think a clean needle was used."

"Certainly." The doctor crossed his arms. "And in the meantime I don't suppose I have to lecture you and your girlfriend to take necessary precautions until we get the results back. Better safe than sorry."

"Should I just hang a sign around my neck stating that I don't have a girlfriend."

"You seemed really concerned about that Molly last time. I just thought..."

"Well don't think," said Sherlock cutting him short.

"It's no sin to enjoy the company of a woman, Mr Holmes!"

"Actually..." Sherlock run through the seven deadly sins in his mind. "I'll think you'll find it is."

The doctor chuckled. "Your brother is worried about you?"

"What have you said to him?"

"Not a thing, I take patient confidentiality seriously."

Sherlock trusted the doctor shame his brother probably wouldn't. He got up and put his coat on.

"Where are you going now Sherlock?" Sighed the doctor.

"I'm going to sin my good fellow." Sherlock left him with a smirk.


End file.
